Falling Stars and Bright Sunlight
by Ramzes
Summary: At Harrenhall, Ashara Dayne's life was changed forever. But would it be forever ruined, especially with the events that are still to come? A (hopefully) short AU devoted to our favourite Dornish femme fatale.
1. Homecoming

**Falling Stars and Bright Sunlight**

_Homecoming_

The wheelhouse was rolling slowly along the white road. The window was ajar, letting the fresh cold air in. A path of sunlight danced its way between the curtains. _The mountain breathes_, Ashara Dayne thought, feeling that she was breathing, too – for first time in months, if not years.

"My lady," her maid, Elysa, said. "Maybe we should slow down…"

Ashara tilted her head and her magnificent dark hair fell over one shoulder. "Slow down?" she echoed. "Hurry up!" she called out to the coachman. "If we keep going, we can reach Starfall before sunset."

"And before the storm that is coming finds us," Elysa murmured.

Even as she was talking, the first droplets started falling.

How they made it through the mountain storm, Ashara could not say. The sun disappeared, swallowed by a curtain of pitch-dark night amidst the bright day. Breaking branches, overflowing streams, wind so savage that it shook the wheelhouse like a tin box… For a while, she wondered whether they should seek refuge under a tree and wait it out. The only thing that stopped her was her fear that a lightning would strike their tree, of all trees, or the wind would break a thick branch right over their heads. It was so dark that the horses found their way only by instinct.

When the lights appeared, for a moment she felt as if her life was starting anew, as if the seven heavens had opened up for her. _Salvation, salvation._ And then, reality crashed over her like the thunderbolts searing the sky: _there was no salvation._ None. The Ashara Dayne who had just arrived here was still the same Ashara Dayne who had left King's Landing a week ago. Her shame was still with her, growing up within her. Arthur and Elia were still at King's Landing and the only difference was that she couldn't now see the danger looming over them – but it was there. She didn't even know whether Arel would accept her in their ancestral home. She couldn't blame him if he didn't. She had been supposed to make a magnificent match, to use her charms and knowledge to advance the family. Instead, she had squandered it all away for no better reason than a single night with a Northman. That was just as true here as it was there.

"My lady," the girl said, haltingly. "My lady, are you cold?"

Ashara silently took the fur-lined cloak from her hands and clasped it with the two silver brooches.

The lights were coming nearer, tantalizingly warm and welcoming. Starfall took shape in front of her, its towers startlingly white against the darkness of the night. Ashara poked her head through the window and cursed when the wind blew the torrential rain against her face and hair. Instinctively, she slammed the window closed.

The wheelhouse kept lumbering and Ashara fought to keep her queasiness away. Eyes closed, hands pressed to her mouth, she could only count her breaths and wonder what kind of welcome she would find when they arrived. After all, Arel wouldn't send her away in a night like that… right?

And then, shouts. The wheelhouse stopped. A heavy clanking of chains followed and the wheelhouse lumbered forward again, so suddenly that Ashara was thrown against the opposite bench. Soon afterwards, the horses whinnied and stopped again. They were now in the bailey of Starfall.

The coachman helped Ashara climb down, the freezing rain still beating against her face. Elysa followed. Ashara crossed the bailey, shaking, and stopped before a huge oak door that remained stubbornly closed. No stars lit the blackness.

Was that it, Ashara asked herself silently. For a moment of madness, she imagined how she'd be forced to spend the night here, how they would find her in the bailey frozen to death in the morning… maybe with her still unformed child next to her, forced out of her by the cold.

A crack made her look up. The door opened and from the inside, a burst of light made her eyes water. Arel stood at the door and removed himself as soon as he saw her. "Come in," he said. "You must be tired."

She stepped over the threshold and her head swam all of a sudden. He caught her immediately and drew her close. For a moment, she saw his face very close to her. They shared the same fair skin, the same violet eyes and dark hair. Now, his finely chiseled features were marred by concern. She tried to smile. "I am fine," she managed and tried not to faint with weariness, fear, and relief. "I am home."

* * *

><p>"He just let me in," Ashara said as she was putting on the nightgown Shanai had warmed on the fire for her. "He was all, <em>come on, are you tired, are you hungry?<em>"

Her goodsister gave her a look of amazement. "Well, what were you expecting? That he's throw you out into the storm?"

Ashara laughed nervously. "The thought was not far from my mind!"

She snuggled up in bed and happily realized that Shanai had placed a few hot stones between the sheets. It felt so nice to wiggle her toes in the blissful warmth. Then, she looked at her goodsister, her face serious. "You know what happened to me, don't you, Shanai?"

The older woman looked aside; with a pang in her heart, Ashara realized how aged and worn out she looked. She was as beautiful as ever, her eyes soft, doe-brown, her hair a vivid auburn; but there was now a constant exhausted edge to her features. She had always been slender but now she looked downright gaunt. "I do."

She took a seat in a barrel chair and gave Ashara a long considering look. "Who is the father?" she asked. "Someone you have to marry?"

Ashara shook her head, grateful beyond words that she didn't have to explain the worst of the situation. "He's from the North," she said. "And he has a match arranged already."

Shanai nodded, clearly unsurprised, and poured Ashara a small goblet of Dornish red before leaving a plate of blood oranges on the bed next to her. Ashara drank thirstily.

"What are you going to do?" Shanai finally asked.

In the faint candlelight, Ashara's eyes glinted dark, like those of a cornered animal. The violet was completely lost now. "I don't know," she admitted. "I tried to get rid of it. I drank the moon tea. I had a special concoction brewed for me. All it gave me was a week of headache. I cannot force it out."

Again, her goodsister looked aside. Ashara could read her thoughts: why were the Seven so cruel? Why would they give a child to Ashara who didn't want it and in truth, hadn't created it with love but lust, and deprive of that Shanai herself?

"I'll have Maester Tiboult examine you in the morning," Lady Dayne finally said. "For now, all you need is rest. I expect that Allyria will sneak in to have a look at you sometime. If she starts tiring you out, just tell her so and that she should leave. Be stern. She won't listen otherwise."

Unexpectedly to herself, Ashara smiled. Bothersome. Unruly. Unwilling to listen. They had said the same things about her, once. She had missed on so much of Allyria's life.

"I will," she said and her goodsister rose to leave. "Shanai?"

The other woman turned at the door. "Yes?"

"Thank you. For everything."

Shanai smiled. "You're welcome."

Shanai's steps had not quite faded away when Ashara went to sleep, a slight smile on her lips. Nothing was lost. For now, she was safe. She was home.


	2. Faint Outlines of a Future

_Thank you, VVSINGOFTHECROSS, for reviewing._

**Falling Stars and Bright Sunlight**

_Faint Outlines of a Future_

_Two days later…_

Ashara didn't know what woke her up. Was it the bright sunlight, or the unobtrusive movements of the handmaiden going about her work in the bedchamber? Or… was it simply the fact that she was now rested and fine?

"Good morning," she said and yawned. "I feel so rested. I hadn't slept for a whole night for months."

The girl came near and smiled. She was a new one, for Ashara didn't know her. "You slept for two nights and a day," she said. "My lord ordered that we should not wake you up."

Ashara's first thought was the horrifying possibility that she might be now lying in her own filth. She desperately checked and composed once she saw the sheets were white and sweet-smelling. Now, she vaguely remembered that she had gotten up a few times to go to the privy. She snuggled back and let the girl do her job. _Two nights and a day_, she thought and smiled. No wonder she felt like she had slept under all the fluff in the world.

"Are you better now?"

Ashara heard the voice like a distant background, recognized it and sighed without opening her eyes. "I am sleeping, Arel. Go away."

"You were daydreaming," he corrected. "I was told you had woken up and I knew that you could spend a week in your dreams."

That was the problem with having siblings close in age. Very few people would believe that the vibrant, glorious Ashara Dayne _could_ daydream. She was certainly not admitting it to anyone.

"I was sleeping," she insisted. "Go away."

"Very well," he agreed amiably. "Just wait for a moment, I have to take the lemon tarts with me…"

"Lemon tarts." Ashara sniffed around and opened an eye. Her brother held one to her mouth and she bit at it greedily. Only after the first bite did she realize how hungry she was. She opened both eyes to the sight of Arel sitting in a chair near her bed. At the coffer near the bed she spotted a platter of blood oranges, lemon tarts, and gingerbread – all of them her favourites. Her eyes swam and Arel felt uncomfortable.

"You aren't going to cry, are you?" he said. "And don't give me this line about tears of joy because of homecoming and all because it's the same to me. They are all wet and make me feel bad. No tears, yes?"

Ashara sniffed. "No tears," she promised. Was it her condition that made her so weepy?

Arel nodded and touched her hand. "Eat something, get dressed, and then come to me. I'd rather discuss the matter now, so our future – or at least the rest of your stay here – is as peaceful as possible."

She gave him a teary smile and wondered why she had ever considered the possibility that he'd throw her out.

A little later, sated, freshly bathed and clad in informal Dornish robes, she found Arel in the solar and saw with relief that Shanai was not nearby. As much as she liked her goodsister, she'd rather discuss her options with Arel alone. And Shanai would not want to hear about Ashara's babe anyway. It would serve no purpose at all, just hurt her unnecessarily.

"I didn't get many details from your letter," Arel said as soon as she took a seat against him. "But then, you couldn't exactly write them down, eh?" He paused. "Shanai told me you have no plans to marry the father."

She nodded. "He won't have me if I wanted to," she said. "And I don't want to. I cannot live in the North, alone, away from everything and everyone I love."

He didn't ask anything. The bright sunlight cast his face in pale gold and made his violet eyes gleam like interchanging purple and indigo. There was no reproach in his expression, just a patient question. "You ought not tell me anything," he finally said. "It won't change a thing. I'd like to understand, though."

"It was the excitement of the tourney." Ashara looked down at her hands folded in her lap. "It was the wine… after half a goblet of Dornish red, I thought that "clothes down" was a marvelous game, remember?"

Arel sighed because he did remember. Even as a child, a mouthful of wine had been enough to make Ashara forget about any limitations. At the same time, he wanted to throw Arthur against the wall. His brother was just as aware as him that their sister was not to be trusted when wine hit her in the head, yet he had let _this_ happen. Of course, Arthur was not really the one to blame either… He might have been at Harrenhall but he had been there charged with a specific task that did not leave much time to keep Ashara on a short leash.

"I don't suppose you'd want a husband?" If she did, she would have already told him.

Ashara shook her head vigorously. She did not want him to buy a father for his babe – which could be arranged. She didn't want the babe either. The thought of giving birth to it sent chills to the very core of her being. She did not want such a responsibility, such a bond.

"I tried to get rid of it," she said in a small voice. "By many means. It never worked out."

The taste of the moon tea and all the vile concoctions she had taken. All her efforts to push and lift heavy furniture. All the hours of riding. Nothing.

"Did you consult a maester?" Arel asked.

Her mouth twisted. "If I only could! The Grand Maester is in Tywin Lannister's pocket. I have no trust in any of the maesters in the Red Keep. There are too many who will be happy to get to the Princess through me."

Arel hadn't expected another answer. Being a royal's favourite had some disadvantages – but there were some for the royal, too. Because of their closeness, every blow against Ashara could be turned into a blow against Elia, to destroy both of them… as well as any trace of Dornish influence at court.

"I'll have maester Thibault have a look at you," he said. "But I want you to consult a few other maesters, too. Keeping the child despite your attempts to force it out , it isn't normal… If they say it's safe for you to try again, by all means do it. But only if they say so. I am not risking your life just to avoid some juicy gossip."

Once again, Ashara felt terribly guilty for assuming that he might do anything but open the door to her.

"I'd rather take you to Sunspear than inviting them here… it'll be more discreet this way," Arel went. "If you aren't up to travelling, though…"

She smiled wryly and gripped the slender silver bracelet she rarely took off. "Never fear. I'm afraid I'll turn out to be so famously fertile that it won't matter whether I'm riding off in a storm or lying to prevent a miscarriage…"

The words had barely left her lips when she realized what she had just said. Her blood curdled, her breath was cut short.

Arel looked down and then looked at her. His voice was level and soothing. "Ashara. No harm done."

"I am sorry," she said in a tiny voice. "I shouldn't have said that."

"Why?" he replied, giving her a steady look. "It's the truth, no matter how bitter it might be to me. Some women are meant to be famously fertile. And other will always suffer miscarriages. Shanai is one of them." He paused. "I'd rather not have you speak so to her, though."

She nodded, feeling like a stupid little girl.

For a while, they were silent. Ashara poured a goblet of water from the flagon and looked at her brother who nodded that he also wanted one.

"If it turns out that it isn't possible for you to expel this child safely," Arel finally said, "maybe we could send him or her to the Water Gardens. It's full of children there anyway. One more will make no difference. There's no need to announce who the mother is."

And she'd be safe to keep living her own life, taking a husband who would not be bought off to hide her shame. Ashara felt light-headed with relief and then immediately felt guilty for feeling this way. But no matter how hard she tried, she could never see the child she carried. To her, it was like the babe didn't exist at all. What an irony! She might turn out to be highly fertile indeed while she lacked even the most basic maternal feelings.

Once again, she rose and went to the door that led to the terrace, opening it with experienced ease. Beneath, the three levels of Starfall sported their pale stone, green wards, and pleasure gardens. On her left, the sea glittered like a silk of gold trimmed with fine white lace. Ashara breathed its salty scent, the one she and Elia had desperately tried to catch for their perfumes but it had always eluded them. She wondered why she had ever wanted to leave. Why Arthur had.

Arel came behind her and she leaned her head against his shoulder. "I wanted to conquer the world," she said, as if she was answering her own question from a moment ago. "Conquer the world with beauty." She laughed self-deprecatingly. "Sounds silly, doesn't it?"

His hand was warm against the small of her back. "No, Ashara," he said. "Not silly at all."

She leaned closer. "It is," she said. "Because I achieved it, for a while. I conquered King's Landing, and yet it wasn't enough. Why does a part of me always longs for something else, Arel? Just one more thing, and I could never touch it. Even now, when I've lost it all, I still don't know what it is."

"You haven't lost it all," Arel said softly but forcefully. "You have time. This unfortunate event won't ruin your life. I won't let it."

She believed him. She didn't know how he would do it but do it he would. She squeezed his fingers shortly in gratitude. "When can we leave for Sunspear?" she asked.

"Soon," he said. "You must send a reply to Lady Larra, though. Word has come to her of your arrival and she invites you to go to visit."

"Larra." Ashara smiled. As a child, she had always worshipped the slightly older girl. The thought of finding her old friends again was so very appealing. "I'd love to. I've always had great time at Blackmont. And the gods know that being a day or two late won't change things so much."

She was already making plans for a more distant future, vaguely realizing that it was partly out of making herself believe that she'd have one – but she didn't care. "And she can visit us after our return from Sunspear…"

"She can't," he said. Something in his voice warned Ashara against asking further questions.

Shanai, though, enlightened her as Ashara relayed her plans for near and not so near future. She was slightly embarrassed to do that, acutely aware that she was clearing the road for keeping her reputation intact for the sake of her future marriage and children – those who would inherit Starfall since Shanai would never bear a living child.

"So, you're going to Blackmont," Shanai said and Ashara gave her a look of surprise since she had expected that her goodsister would accompany them. Arel had already confirmed that he'd escort her there.

"Well, I don't suppose making one bedchamber ready would be so much bother," Shanai went on. Her lovely face had darkened.

Ashara didn't know what to say. She had no idea what all that was about.

"She has an affair with Arel, you see," Shanai said dryly. "Oh they are quite discreet but they jump at the chance to meet and indulge in their bedsport. I suppose it will last until she's safely wed again. At least she waited for a month or two after the old man died. I wonder how much will Arel wait should I die… a week, maybe. Ten days, at most."

Ashara shuddered. "Don't talk nonsense," she snapped, realizing once again that another one of her girlish illusions, that of great everlasting love, had just been shattered.


	3. At the Water Gardens

_Thanks to both my reviewers for keeping me willing to write._

**Falling Stars and Bright Sunlight**

_At the Water Gardens_

_A week later…_

As soon as the captain announced that they had landed safely, Allyria ran for the gangplank and trotted down it, headed for the realm of marble and laughter nearby. Larra followed with only slightly less restraint. At the time Ashara and Arel reached the first gate, Allyria and Larra were already at the second one and when they reached the second, Allyria had already stripped her clothes and was now wading in the biggest pool where the thirty or so children greeted her with ear-splitting squeals. She almost bumped into a boy who was a little younger than her seven years and shooting out of the pool. He kept running without breaking pace and bumped into Larra, shouting, "Mama!"

Larra leaned down and grasped him to swing him around. Then, she held him tightly. "Well, Perros, I came to see you!"

"Did you see me?" he squeaked. "Did you? Elin and I, we beat everyone!"

"You'll show me soon enough," she said, smiling.

An older girl emerged from the water, too, and approached Larra but more slowly than Perros. Amused, Ashara thought that Jynessa Blackmont was in the age where girls were caught between wanting to be children and ladies at the same time.

A few moments later, Ashara had to hide her smile because there was something funny and endearing at the same time to have two children execute a perfect bow and curtsy to her while entirely naked.

"That's a splendid bracelet," the girl said, eyeing the silver gleaming on Ashara's hand.

Ashara looked down at it herself. The silver threads wove together in a fragile, yet solid river. The fire agates spread their flames from between them and caught the sunlight in a way that made the amethysts sparkle like falling stars. "It is very special," she said. "It was a gift from the Queen."

Jynessa's eyes went wide. Ashara grinned. "I'll tell you more about it later," she promised.

The chief steward, Oryn Seashell, came to them, bowing. "We are honoured to offer you our hospitality, my lord," he said. "And it's a joy to have you back here, my lady," he added, with a small wink, to Ashara. She winked back. This man had given her sweets when she had been no older than Jynessa and Perros and splashing in those pools. Once, she had tried to drink one of the fountains from top to bottom, entirely convinced that she could dry the jet.

"Your rooms are ready," he announced to the newcomers and led Arel and Ashara to an outer staircase. Larra stayed with her children. As she was walking the wooden-paneled hallway, Ashara thought it felt strange to be quartered at the official part, the one for adults – and the members of House Martell. Elia had had her own quarters here, of course, but she had often escaped to spend the night in one of the shared bedrooms with the other children, laughter and hushed whispers lulling them to sleep. Shared bedrooms were such a joy…

"Here we are," Oryn said and opened a door. "Two chambers with partitions for your servants, a solar, and a bathchamber. I hope you'll be comfortable here."

"I am sure we'll be," Arel said.

The steward showed them in and looked at Ashara. "Lord Alric desires the pleasure of your company, my lady. When you're ready…"

Ashara promised that she'd visit Prince Doran's father as soon as she changed her attire and Oryn closed the door discreetly behind him.

Ashara went to the open door of the terrace and stared at the garden beyond. She could hardly wait for their servants to catch up – she desperately needed a bath or rather, the chance to take her gown off. Her breasts had started becoming fuller and tender – yet another reminder of her condition.

"I don't want to proceed to Sunspear," she murmured. "I want to stay here."

Arel laughed softly. "You aren't the only one," he said. "I have the same thoughts each time I visit. And I am quite sure Larra would rather stay here with her children than go to Sunspear to do husband-hunting."

He said it so lightly that Ashara turned to look back at him, closing the door behind. There was no distress on his face, nothing indicating that he minded in the least. She had been watching him and Lady Blackmont carefully for days but they had given no indication that Shanai's accusation had any ground. "And you don't mind?" she asked.

He gave her a look of surprise. "Why should I?"

She hesitated. "I've heard that you're having an affair with her. Isn't it true?"

For a moment, there was a flash of anger in his eyes that froze her on the spot. It was a hard thing to get Arel angry – or rather, it was near impossible for one to see that they had. But now his violet eyes tore her apart the way she was often told her own did others. "That is none of your business."

"But I'd like to know. Shanai told me that wherever you have a chance to, you share one bedroom."

The fire intensified and then died out. "And one bed," Arel elaborated. "Are you satisfied now? Really, that's none of your business. It's mine alone, not even Shanai's… if she has had the insolence to complain about it…"

Ashara drew back, horrified by his cruelty, by his lack of remorse and consideration. That was not like him at all – Arel who had taken care of her and Arthur in the nightmare their life had become after their father's accident, when their mother had let her lover almost ruin Starfall. That was not Arel who had loved Shanai.

"Arel, do you hear yourself?" she asked in a faint whisper. "What's happened to you? I feel like I don't know you any more."

"Stop it." Now his voice was even. He had himself under control once again. "You're forgetting yourself. Instead of digging between _my_ sheets, pay attention to _your_ _own_ situation. Shanai is a woman grown who has no trouble making her demands clear to me, I assure you. Now, it's you we have to think about. I want you to see Maester Caleotte as soon as possible and then the other maesters. Unfortunately, there's no shortage of those in the Water Gardens right now."

Ashara's resentment reached its peak at the thought of how different things were for men and women even here, in Dorne. Before she could tell him what she thought about him, though, a knock at the door turned her attention elsewhere. "Come in," she said and the arrival of their servants with the travel coffers put an end to this unpleasant conversation. By an unspoken agreement, they both knew that they would not start talking about it again.

* * *

><p><em>An hour later…<em>

"He'll look the same to you, he'll be happy to see you, and he'll start asking questions and hold the conversation together without any difficulty at all. Then, all of a sudden, he'll pale and look like he's fallen asleep. At this point, you have to call for the maesters, unless there is someone else around to do it for you. I don't know whether he'll want to talk to you alone."

Lady Alynna Gargalen was giving Ashara fast instructions as she accompanied her to her uncle's solar.

Ashara gave her a look of surprise. Alynna shook her head. "No, it isn't that he might want to keep your conversation a secret. It's just that sometimes he feels like he's suffocating and he doesn't want too many people in the room. I haven't seen him this morning and his condition constantly changes overnight."

Ashara could hear and understand the words, yet in no way could she link their meaning to the strong vigorous man Princess Arianne's consort had been when she had left Dorne only a few years ago. She had become so entrenched in survival, court machinations, flirting, and conspiring that the news of her homeland had not looked real, especially when they said something she truly did not want to hear.

"And… be careful with what you say to him," Alynna went on.

Surprised, Ashara stopped walking and looked at her. Alynna avoided her eye and stared through the nearest window in the gallery to the pools where the children were. Ashara briefly wondered whether Alynna's own children were among them. They probably were.

"I am not suggesting that you lie to him," Alynna elaborated hurriedly. "But his ailment is so advanced that it'll be cruel of us to tell him anything but what he needs to hear to die in peace."

"I see," Ashara said and there was a lump in her throat. She suddenly remembered her own father, his debilitating illness and how they had all pretended that everything was fine since he couldn't find out and he couldn't really help them. So they had smiled and lied through their teeth as their smallfolk was harasses, their belongings denied to them, and Starfall become a place where rats roamed freely.

"Talk to him about Rhaenys," Alynna went on. "Talk about Arthur and Prince Lewyn, and what good you can say about Elia's life. Don't talk about Harrenhall, for one."

_They haven't told him_, Ashara realized and shivered at the thought of what a solitary life he must be leading now if such a lie could hold.

"I won't," she promised and made a mental list of the things she could not talk about: Aerys' madness, their own scheming to replace him with Rhaegar, Elia's enemies at court, the insinuations thrown her way, the tension between Rhaegar and her after Harrenhall… There were so few things she _could_ talk about.

When they reached the solar, Alynna gave the younger woman a reassuring look. "I might have scared you worse than I intended," she said. "Don't be afraid, he's still who he was."

But he didn't look like it. Once, he had been a copy of his son Oberyn, just older, vigorous and with a bottomless supply of energy; now, he looked washed-out, crushed by fatigue and twice the age he had been at the day of their leaving. His eyes were the same, though, black and keen. Ashara didn't know how she could lie to him and make him believe her. She wondered how Alynna and the others could have been doing it for months.

He didn't rise to greet her – he clearly didn't have the strength. Near him, his nephew Errol Gargalen, Alynna's husband, rose and smiled at her.

Ashara smiled back, curtsied to the late Princess' consort and started preparing for the lies she was about to say. She started with a truth, though: when asked to tell them about her life at King's Landing, she immediately said, "The Princess is with child again."

She looked at the sheer joy on Alric and Alynna's faces and wondered why Errol looked pale and scared all of a sudden.

* * *

><p><em>Late in the night…<em>

All day long, the Water Gardens were a swirl of laughter and mischief punctuated by occasional quarrels and the roar of the sea; at night, it looked like a piece of the seventh sky, the marbles absorbing the colours of pools and sky, so walking through them felt like gliding on water, scented with the deep aroma of blood oranges.

Ashara rose from the bench near one of the smaller pools and started putting her slippers back on. Her mind was now calmer, although the humiliation was seared so deeply in her brain that she doubted it would ever go away. This had been worse than the midwives she had consulted in secret in King's Landing. Their chuckles and knowing eyes had been bad enough and one of them had actually licked her lips at grabbing Ashara's breasts, presumably to check whether they were tender enough to indicate pregnancy. It had been revolting. But the respect the maesters at the Water Gardens had shown her today had turned out to be far worse. They had not been judgmental, disapproving, or aloof. But they were her own people. Two of the three had known her since she had played here as a child and she had felt mortified at exposing her secret to their professional eye.

But they had given her the grass. She did not know what it was, had not wanted to ask. But she had to drink it as soon as she was back to Starfall, so she could recuperate in the safety of her own chambers. The effect was supposed to be almost immediate – and extremely violent. There was even a chance of death – but the chance had been present in all the things she had done to get rid of this pregnancy before. The grass lay hidden at the bottom of one of her coffers and Ashara would use it in a week, at most.

The echo of steps made her turn her head, her heart pounding. A man strode near, breaking the soft peace of the late night. _No one should be striding like this in the seventh sky_, Ashara thought and rose, slippers finally in place.

Bathed by the moonlight, he looked as if he were wearing a helmet but in fact, it was only his own hair, silver and lustrous, cut short. Ashara swallowed, trying to overcome her fear. Now she realized that roaming around alone, so late at night had not been a good idea.

He stopped a few steps away from her and bowed with flourish. "Dear cousin," he said. "I heard that you were here but I have to admit I didn't believe them. Last thing I knew, you were busy breaking hearts at King's Landing."

Ashara shrugged, hoping that he couldn't hear the thumping of her heart. "People come back, Ser Geralt."

"Indeed they do."

He looked her up and down. Ashara felt the ridiculous urge to shift her feet and hide her wet slippers. He saw them and grinned. "Sitting with your feet dangling in the water, huh? People don't change this much."

"That's quite right," she agreed. Her feelings about him had not changed in the least. She had never liked him and after his family of High Hermitage had tried to establish power over Starfall using Arel's youth and inexperience, she liked him even less. She eyed him, trying to see whether she could squeeze between him and the tree on his left and return to her chamber.

He came nearer. "You are even more beautiful than I remember," he whispered. "Maybe it's time to unite our Houses once again. You'll need a husband to help you rule Starfall."

She stepped back. "Starfall has a lord and that's my brother," she said, trying to sound as cold and imperious as she knew how.

He chuckled. "As much as we all love him, the Seven did not make him eternal to the specific purpose of ruling Starfall forever. And everyone in Dorne knows that Lady Shanai doesn't care whose bed it is that her husband is warming, as long as it isn't hers. Starfall will be yours…"

"You're drunk," Ashara said, disgusted, but she knew he wasn't. He was sober and he knew what he was talking about. She made a step to go past him but he barred her way. "Let me go."

"Not before we talk."

"Go away," she spat, all pretensions of being cold and unafraid scattered in the wind. "Let me go right at this moment!"

Instead, he only stepped so near that all that divided their mouths was a puff of air.

Ashara tried to push past him but he caught her by the waist. _What am I going to do_, she thought frantically. _Call for help? But I'll disgrace myself and with my state now…_

"Let her go."

The voice was not even a loud one – it was even but carrying a deadly level of menace and self-confidence. Geralt hesitated but clearly decided that picking up a fight with a man was harder than forcing himself on a woman, so he merely shrugged indifferently and moved himself, so Ashara could go past him.

She was very careful not to lean on the man's arm as he walked her on the outer staircase.

Neither of them said a word as he saw her off to her chambers. It was in moments like this when Ashara could see why Arel had chosen Errol Gargalen for his best friend. Why Alynna had refused a crown for him.

"Don't tell Arel," she spoke in a low voice. She didn't need more trouble brewing right now. And Arel would never let Geralt get away with this.

He nodded. "I won't," he promised and waited until she closed the door of the bedchamber safely behind her.

* * *

><p>In the bedchamber three doors away from Ashara's, Larra Blackmont lay immobile while Arel was trying to relieve one of her terrible headaches. His fingers worked with the confidence that he had assumed in their early youth when they had first taken notice of each other. They had both been surprised at how fast he had regained his skill when years later they had rekindled their affair. Sometimes, Larra played with the thought of suggesting him to become a master at Blackmont, responsible for a single task – disposing of her headaches.<p>

"I think you're ready," Arel said.

For the last few minutes, Larra had indeed been feeling great relief. She had simply enjoyed the feeling of his fingers over her scalp. She now twisted slightly to look him in the eye. "How can you tell?"

"I just can," he replied.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I like how you pretend that you're still in pain, so I would keep petting you. Why should I stop something that I like?"

Tears sprang to her eyes. It was true, she had always liked being petted. _You aren't a cat_, her father had thundered frequently when she was a child. _You are the heir of Blackmont and by the Seven, you'll behave as such!_ She had tried. Arel had found out her shameful little secret about a week after they had first shared a bed.

Arel drew back and gave her an assessing look. "A bath early in the morning, a good breakfast and a little perfume," he gave his assessment. "And you'll be ready to take Sunspear by storm."

She didn't want to take anything by storm. She just wanted a husband she could share her responsibilities with, someone who would not seek to usurp her position, someone who would not look at her children askance… Oh, and who would be young enough to take her to bed without being coaxed into it. In short – a mix of the Warrior, the Father, and who knew what else!

"I only want a safe harbour," she said. She had not found it in any of the men who had started streaming to Blackmont from the moment her husband died.

Arel sighed and stroked her arm. "Don't give up, Larra! Keep taking care of the children, ruling Blackmont, and helping charities. Right now, no one can demand more of you, not even the Prince. Take care of yourself. And keep faith. All will be well, at the end. This time, the choice will be yours and I believe you'll choose wisely."

_Keep faith._ The words that had kept them going, the spell that had brought them to the other end of their ordeals when they had been almost children. It didn't seem to be working for him any more. It had certainly stopped working for her. But she wanted to believe it, wanted to believe in a better life, better fate.

"Come on," she said. "Let's go to sleep."

He rose and started undressing. She brought a goblet of water at his side of the bed, for he often woke up at night parched with thirst. A moment later, she snuggled up against him and he draped an arm around her. They had no qualms of being caught, for they could both wake up when they wanted to. Before dawn, he would slip into his own bedchamber unnoticed. It would be hard to go back to sleep, for both of them, but it was worth it. They were both so tired of cold beds and lonely nights.


	4. At the Mercy of the River

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed, it means more than you know!_

**Falling Stars and Bright Sunlight**

_At the Mercy of the River_

_Two weeks later…_

Ashara woke up before dawn. Her sleep had been troubled, haunted by the enormity of what was going to take place today. They had come back from Sunspear two days ago but Arel had insisted that she rest before undertake the dangerous initiative that was ending the existence of the being inside her. _Taking my child's life_, she thought, determined to be honest and cruel to herself, and she felt something like remorse. Her hands went down a body that had already started to change. She was no longer as graceful as she had been, and the feeling of her growing breasts was not pleasant either. She could no longer ride her sand mare comfortably and since the very beginning, the black beast had been anxious, as if she could feel her mistress' unhappiness. Early enough in her pregnancy, Ashara had tried to ride herself into a miscarriage, with the only result of tiring herself and the mare almost to death. It would be a while before she was forgiven, it seemed. It turned out that Whirlwind was a resentful beast – and besides, she clearly profoundly disliked the fact that she now only got the grooms to take her for a ride. _I disrupted my mare's life as well, not only my family's and my own,_ Ashara thought, feeling profoundly sorry for herself as she walked up the shores of the Torentine. The river sang softly to her of smooth current and sunlight dancing atop the white gleaming surface, yet she knew how swiftly she could find herself sucked in the vortex underneath. Not unlike her life at court… or her life here. When they'd been children, her brothers had used to come to swim here – always the two of them, or sometimes accompanied by a few other boys. Once, Arel had been otherwise occupied or simply reluctant but Arthur had gone in on his own. Ashara remembered how pale he had been when he had finally made his way home, disheveled, soaking wet and downright scared. The current had started claiming him.

Maybe it would be easier if she just entered. The thought of childbirth scared her more than ever after the little she had glimpsed of Elia's labour. The Queen had decided that maidens had no work getting to witness what awaited them, too, one day, and Elia had agreed. The maesters had told Ashara that being so far along, she'd experience the pain almost as badly as an actual birth. The very thought of that made her scramble for something, anything that would spare her that.

"Don't be stupid," she said aloud. Throwing herself in the Torentine would probably spare her not only this pain but the pains of a lifetime – literally! Like, in taking her life away literally. Ashara wanted to live. "And besides," she kept talking to herself, "it's too much bother, walking to the centre and whatnot. It'll be easier if I just throw myself from the Palestone Sword."

She giggled nervously, entirely aware that she was just trying to postpone the inevitable, enjoy a last hour of sunlight and the smells of her own land before undertaking the journey that would mark another rite of passage in her life as a woman, much like her night with Brandon had done before.

She looked up and let the sun caress her dark hair. She knew she was losing her fashionable pale complexion but she did not care. One could not live under the Dornish sun and stay fair-skinned, unless they spent all their time indoors. Soon, she'd turn almost olive and then she'd look just like Arel again, violet eyes contrasting to dark face just as strikingly as they did to a creamy one.

Her way led her up the hills, the soft green and burned brown that would finally develop into the Red Mountains; slightly annoyed, she noticed that she was out of breath. Pregnancy and the Red Keep seemed to have transformed her into quite the weakling. But she didn't stop walking. Soon, the aroma of honeysuckles filled her nostrils and the buzz of bees was a nice accompaniment of the rising delight she felt. A few birds joined in. The sun thinned to rays splintering the canopy of treetops over her head. Ashara was now in the beginning of the gorge of Torentine; reluctantly, she decided against going on. She felt safe enough in her own because the mantle she carried for the colder areas here, in the hills, was embroidered with House Dayne colours. No one of the shepherds around would dare attack their lord's sister. But if she went on, she'd find herself in the High Hermitage territory, and she did not trust _them_ one bit.

She sat on a big boulder at the edge of the gorge. Unlike the rest of the rocks around, it was bathed in sunlight, so it was warm. Ashara slid her gaze over the Torentine, now rushing wild and marvelous downwards in a small waterfall of pearls and golden threads. In this moment, she didn't want to go away from here. But through the peaceful tranquility here, old questions and doubts besieged her again. Elia's state had been so unstable even in the beginning of her pregnancy that Ashara simply couldn't see how she could make it to the end and stay healthy. _They shouldn't have tried for a second child so soon after Rhaenys_, Ashara thought. Elia needed more time to regain her strength and besides, maesters claimed that often the second one of two children born in a short span was weaker and unhealthy, with the mother not having enough energy to pass to the babe in the womb. But Rhaegar looked… well, he looked like a man obsessed. She had overheard him talking to Elia and Arthur and sometimes she could swear he was headed on the road to insanity, with his fixation on this prophecy of his. Sometimes, Ashara wondered whether he was convinced that his prophecy would keep Elia's safe, for he needed her for his heads of the dragon; other times, she cynically wondered if he even cared whether she lived or not. Her pride and dignity meant nothing to him, he had proved it at Harrenhall, so why should it be different with her life? Arthur looked uncomfortable whenever she raged about this. Ashara rather enjoyed being able to flay the Prince in front of Shanai who agreed that Rhaegar needed a good beating.

In short, it had been the most unfortunate time for her to leave King's Landing. Elia ill, Rhaegar becoming a prophecy fiend, Arthur having forgotten how to smile, the Queen sprouting new bruises every day… Things were getting steadily darker and as much as she hated the poisonous air in the Red Keep, she could not help but feel that she had deserted them – Elia, Arthur and Lewyn, Rhaella, the rest of Elia's Dornish retinue. After Rhaegar's failure to catch this Knight of the Laughing Tree, Aerys had started deteriorating rapidly and the only one who could protect them from his wrath was Rhaegar – when he deigned to look up from his cursed books.

Absent-mindedly, she raised a hand to wipe the wetness off her forehead and then startled. She had been so engrossed in her thoughts that she hadn't noticed the heavy dark clouds weighing the horizon down. A single look was enough to show her than in the matter of minutes, she'd be attacked by a vicious torrent of icy rain. The cool air would turn cold. Everything would become slippery.

Still, Ashara didn't panic. She had grown up in these hills. She looked around and chose a brushwood she'd hide amidst. Climbing down the hills in a storm coming from the mountains was the worst thing she could do. Even the slightest slipping could send her down in the river that would turn into a raging sea soon enough.

She rose – just a bit too hurriedly. The hand she used to push herself away from the boulder slipped and she lost her balance. Despite her desperate attempts to cling to the branches and roots of the trees she encountered, she was slipping downwards, against the Torentine. Terrified, she screamed but the roar of the coming storm overhead and the rushing river beneath drowned her words.

The rest of it were flashes of a nightmare she would never remind clearly and would never want to. The river carrying her along. The floating tree trunk a moment before it clearly hit her head. The glare of the sun later, maybe much later. And her desperate attempt to scramble out, find a warm and secure place. She didn't care whether she'd be scolded and called a fool. She wanted to live… she wanted it… even if she had to spent the rest of her life in misery and sorrows! And then, the knife. It was a real knife and someone was twisting it slowly in her belly, so severely that she could only whimper.

When she came to herself, Ashara saw that she was in her room at Starfall. The master was looking at her with concern. Arel quickly came from somewhere beyond her field of vision. "You're awake! Finally! Are you cold?"

He brought a goblet of warm milk, whine, and honey to her lips. She drank with a great effort and looked at herself, to find out, surprised, that she was indeed cold despite being tucked under thick covers and the fire in the fireplace was high.

"What happened?" she murmured and tried to rise in bed, surprised how hard it was.

"No," the master said. "You have a head wound, my lady. You must stay abed."

"A head wound?" she repeated and tried to search amidst the haze in her head. "The Torentine."

"Yes," Arel said. "Toral Wyl found you almost ashore. The river must have carried you all the way from the hills."

Ashara fell silent then, considering his too serene behavior_. I must be in a really bad way if he isn't scolding me._ "Am I going to die?" she finally asked.

He gave her a look of exasperation. "No, unless you decide to die of the spanking I intend to administer when you're better. What were you thinking?"

Ashara's first thought was that she didn't have time to wait to get better. And then, the pain in her lower belly and a look at the basin and bloodied cloths nearby showed her that she wouldn't need to.

She hadn't wanted the child, yet now she could not help but feel an inexplicable twinge of loss.


	5. The Long Road Ahead

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed and very sorry for the delay. That's what you get when you try to juggle too many fics and real life!**

Falling Stars and Bright Sunlight

_The Long Road Ahead_

Days prolonged into weeks and weeks turned months. Ashara was very surprised at the slowness of her recovery. Blessed with robust health, she was never the one to think too much of any demands her body might make for rest, good nourishment, and herbal teas. But now, her looking-glass told her the truth, how pale and gaunt she was, how limp her hair and thin and dark her lips. The rest of it, her constant fatigue did. Her lack of interest in anything. Her constant desire to sleep and the fear of going to sleep because when she did, she dreamed of them… Her child – a boy, she somehow knew , - strong and vigorous, playing in the halls of Starfall like she and her brothers had done once. Brandon Stark, laughing, his hands on the small of her back and that intoxicating smell of his – furs, horse, man, and… delight, in finding out that he was her first. Elia's eyes, full of concern about Ashara and pain from the discomfort this second pregnancy was giving her. And her child again, begging her to have mercy, not kill him… Those were dreams that could never give her true rest and it showed in the bruises under her eyes, as violet as her irises and becoming deeper every morning.

Since childhood, she had always had a ritual of waking up – she rose from her bed as soon as she drank a goblet of blood orange juice. In King's Landing, she had replaced it with milk and honey but it wasn't the same. Without thinking, she had resumed the old habit as soon as she had come back to Dorne. As soon as the girl placed the goblet on her bedside, she sat up in bed and started sipping. Then, she threw the covers aside and started dressing.

After the miscarriage, though, she started drifting in her bleak thoughts even after she placed the goblet back. Then, she started snuggling back in bed, lingering there for so long that at the end, Shanai came into the room and dragged her quite unceremoniously out of bed. After a memorable occasion when she lost her balance and dropped Ashara's upper body almost to the floor, Ashara knew better than to argue: when she saw her goodsister, she simply rose.

"You are completely healthy, my lady," the maester claimed, shaking his head and murmuring that her body had healed. She just needed some strengthening, hearty meals, sunlight, and walking. Meals tasted like cinder in her mouth, sunlight made her eyes hurt, and an hour of walking sapped her of all energy. Arel wouldn't hear of that, though, and forced her to walk, leave the building. Once or twice, he took her out for a ride and Whirlwind's joy at seeing her mistress was the first thing to pierce the cloud of ice tightened around Ashara's heart. Since that day on, she was able to stay out a little longer. She was still unwilling to break her silence, speaking only when spoken to and avoiding drifting in thoughts at all, for they would be excruciating ones. But she started spending more time with Arel and Shanai. Just being near them gave her a wonderful stirring of warmth that somehow made it all easier.

A few times, they forced her to accompany them at their visits to neighbouring castles. The first time, she thought she'd be unable to play her part, she was so scared that everyone would just look at her and know… But the old Lady Wyl who had also been invited to Skyreach only smiled and patted her hand, saying that King's Landing had only made her lovelier. _He didn't tell her_, Ashara realized, relieved. Lord Wyl had clearly chosen not to share the situation with her rescue, which meant that her shameful secret was still a secret. She accepted his polite compliments with a faint echo of her one time coquettishness

Her next thought was the first thing in months not to be connected with her own torment. Larra Blackmont was also one of the guests and Ashara waited fretfully to see how Shanai would take her presence. If she had known the woman would be here, she'd most likely have found a pretext not to come. But in the cheerful discussion of silks and flowers, and the upcoming birth of Elia's child any hostility seemed to go unnoticed. Ashara barely noticed how Larra rose and made a short excuse. But she saw the small smile on Shanai's lips and realized that her goodsister knew something that she still didn't know.

A quick look around showed her that Arel was nowhere around. Had they planned a tryst? In plain daylight? With his wife so near? Ashara saw Shanai's smile widening and realized that no matter what was going on, a tryst was not it.

She, too, mumbled an excuse and went out. They couldn't be too far away – it would be either the garden or the round gallery around it.

She heard their voices the moment she approached the turn of the hall that opened into the gallery, made a few more steps and stayed where she was_. I really shouldn't eavesdrop_, she thought. In King's Landing, there had been no other way but she felt foul doing this to Arel. But she knew that was the only way she could understand. She could not ask her brother of Shanai and her withdrawal into her sorrow and weakness had discouraged the handmaidens from telling her the latest rumours. Through the glass window on her left, she could see the green embroidered with flower beds.

"I suppose we won't be able to see each other before the Council Session," Larra was saying. "Unless Ashara wants to visit me? You could come with her…"

"I'd rather not bring Ashara into this," Arel replied sharply. "She wasn't… well. I'd rather know what's going on with this Dalt who's been frequenting Blackmont ever since your mourning was over. Is there any sign that he is the one ahead of the others?"

"It isn't a sign, it's a decion. The wedding will take place in two months."

A long silence followed. Ashara pressed a hand to her mouth. So that was why Shanai was so pleased? With this wedding, Arel would no longer have a mistress. That could be a chance for them to regain what they had lost. In the garden, a few servants appeared and started taking care of the flower beds.

"Well, you're free to do what you want, Larra. I've always been against those who thought they knew better than you and tried to seize the reins of your life from you."

His voice was calm and pleasant, yet there was a sob in Larra's. "Should we truly… call it off? Two months is a long time…"

"Not so long," he interrupted. "And besides, you wouldn't want to start your new marriage with a former lover still around, would you? There are women who wouldn't bat an eyelid but you will."

She took a breath audibly. "What are you going to do?" she asked and Ashara imagined her brother shrugging.

"I'll have to find someone else, I guess. Shanai might feel that being a septa is her vocation but it certainly isn't mine, Larra. I won't make a very good septon. And I really dislike people who aren't good in their trade."

He said it so businesslike that it should have been amusing. It wasn't. All of a sudden, Ashara realized why he had turned to Larra. Acceptance. He had not turned his back on Shanai – she was the one who no longer wanted him, after all those failed pregnancies. What had the worm from High Hermitage said? "Lady Shanai doesn't care whose bed he sleeps in, as long as it isn't hers." She hadn't paid much attention to his words then but she remembered now and her heart ached.

"Arel…" Larra breathed.

"You don't need to explain yourself to me. We all do what we believe is best for us."

"I'd like so much for it to be…"

"Don't, Larra! It's too late. When we were young, we were both promised to other people. Now, you'll make such a promise again. I believe you'd like to start your new life properly."

Now, the sob came out unrestrained but Larra got herself under control pretty fast. Scared that they'd go back and come upon her, Ashara hurried back but did not return to the solar. Instead, she went out into the garden and between two beds of daisies wept silently – for Arel and Larra, for herself and Brandon Stark, for her babe, for the danger ever attending on Elia's steps, for all that Arthur had forsook without realizing how much it would cost him, for Shanai, her hopeless love for Arel and her fear of his touch, for all those who had known that it would not have a future but had braved the sea of love and passion because the Seven had created love for no other reason than doing mischief.

* * *

><p>"Finally!"<p>

"My thoughts, exactly," Arel agreed.

The three of them stood at the prow of the ship and held their breath as they moved forward. They had been sitting near the port of Sunspear since before dusk – and now, it was close to midnight. Enormous start turned the sky above and sea below into a glistening dome. The growing mass of ships and boats, not allowed to enter just like them, had not been overly beneficial to the passenger's state, though. The shouts and commands from all directions had stirred up Larra's horrendous headache and she had retired to her cabin to lie down.

"Are you well?" Ashara asked now. "You can go back to your cabin and have some more rest. I promise, I will…"

"I am staying," Larra said. "To make sure that the stars or the captain of the port hadn't changed their minds."

Arel chuckled and the three of them stared as Sunspear came into leaves like a huge golden flower. Ashara would never get tired of the sight. Now, after her bout of weeping at Skyreach, she had started regaining her taste for life and beauty.

"Too bright," Arel murmured. "What's going on?"

The two women stared once again past the lowered sail. He was right – too many houses were too brightly lit. They had found themselves in the belly of a giant firefly. In the streets, the brusque walk of many men-at-arms couldn't be mistaken for anything else.

"They are looking for something," Larra said.

"It might be just that the safety measures are tightened because of the Council Session," Ashara dared. "So many lords and ladies arrive, some of them with their families… I guess Lady Mellario is in Sunspear, as well, with the children."

Arel stared right ahead, as if he could penetrate the night and distance. Those of the crew who didn't have any pressing duties also came to see and comment. Ashara realized just how stupid she had sounded.

Once ashore, they had to go to the administrative building and verify who they were – something that had never happened before if Ashara's memory served her right. On their way to the Old Palace, they were stopped twice and asked about their identity politely but firmly.

At the Old Palace gate, they had to wait for their turn at a sufficiently long line. Fortunately, the clerks here knew most of the lords and ladies entitled to seat at the annual Council Sessions by face and the admission happened quite fast.

The palace was lit brighter than the city even. Ashara wondered whether Larra's headache had come roaring back. She certainly felt the beginning of one. There wasn't a single chamber that was dark. Dozens of torches drowned the yards in yellow-reddish hue. As a servant appeared to take them to their chambers, Arel asked what was going on but the man only murmured that he was under orders to take them to Lord Alric.

As they were crossing a terrace on the second floor, Larra suddenly stopped dead in her tracks. Ashara and Arel came near to see what was going on.

In the courtyard below, a young man looked up, as if he knew they were there. His face was deathly white but his demeanor was calm. A moment later, one of the guards in the Martell red and orange surrounding him politely but firmly indicated that it was time to go. He went on agreeably.

"Was that…" Ashara started to say, not quite believing her eyes.

"Yes," Arel said, his own disbelief obvious. "That was him."

The three of them stared stunned as Gillerd Gargalen, Prince Doran's own cousin, was being led to the Spear Tower.

"What in the name of the Mother could he have done?" Larra demanded of the servant. But the man only looked away and a little later, looked quite relieved to be leaving them at their destination. Arel pushed the door open.

Ashara had seen the spacious chamber many times. The late Princess had used her as a solar when there were too many people visiting to feel comfortable in her real solar. The many chairs and settees guaranteed that no one would be left unseated. The shutters of the windows were drawn, so they would not suffocate in the heat. She dropped a quick curtsey to Prince Doran and looked around. Prince Oberyn was pacing the chamber, as fierce and angry as a wild cat. Lady Mellario was sitting with a young woman whose face was so bloated with weeping and pregnancy that Ashara didn't recognize her, only knew that she knew her. Prince Doran was having a discussion with low voice with his father and uncle and by the expression of all three, it wasn't going well.

"No!" Mikkel Gargalen suddenly burst out. "You can say all you want but I'll never accept such a criminal lack of self-control. By the gods, where did I do wrong! Did he have to go this far? Kill the man! What was he _thinking_?"

"He wasn't," Lord Alric said; stunned, Ashara realized that in the months she had been locked in her grief, he had bounced back to thriving health. "He just acted. And from what Loreza has been telling me, the man quite deserved it."

Loreza. Stunned, Ashara looked at the weeping woman, finally recognizing familiar features. Alric Gargalen's golden-haired, blue-eyed bastard daughter looked nothing like her father or Elia but now she truly didn't look like herself either and there was nothing to wonder about it – her husband had just been arrested on murder charges.

"He did," Loreza said, her voice quite clear given the circumstances. "If it was once or even twice but it was every day. Every. Day. Making passes as me, offering me jewels…"

"And that was reason enough for Gillerd to kill him?" her goodfather snapped, disbelieving.

"It wasn't that," Loreza snapped back. "I…"

All of a sudden, Oberyn spun back, crossed the chamber in two strides, and grabbed Loreza's chin. "Tell me whose the child it," he ordered.

She closed her eyes. "How did you know?"

Since she started weeping again, he let go off her chin and turned to the others. "Just last night, Davel Vaith boasted that he had bedded Loreza and it was a pity that she was asleep, so she had no idea what pleasure she'd been missing on. Gillerd heard about it."

Terrible silence descended upon the chamber. All eyes were on the weeping woman.

"Well," Alric said, his voice shaking with fury. "I'll say that Gillerd was too merciful, giving him quick death."

"You would," Mikkel snapped. "It's you he takes after, not me. If you had heard about it before he did, now Doran would be wondering what to do with his father, not his cousin."

Ashara looked at Larra who explained in a low whisper that a few months ago, Loreza had fallen from her horse and been unconscious for weeks. Now, things were looking suddenly clearer. Someone had forced himself upon her while she had been in this state; soon after she woke up, she had found out that she was with child. And now, drunken loquacity had made it possible for her husband to find out who the intruder had been.

The consequences were quite easy to predict.

"Did Gillerd really kill him when he was unarmed?" Lady Mellario asked.

"It looks like he called him to single combat right there but Vaith was not eager to accept, so Gillerd started acting."

"In front of five other people," Mikkel said bitterly. "More fool he. Now, we can't do anything for him."

He turned to his niece. "The child isn't his, I suppose?"

"I am very sorry, Uncle," she said.

He sighed. "It wasn't your fault. He's the one who didn't think."

"I suppose House Vaith wants justice now?" Arel asked.

"Justice," Alric spat. "It there was such a thing as justice, they'll all hang for the nurturing they give their sons… but yes, they want _justice_."

"That's ridiculous," Lady Mellario spoke, her brown eyes going from face to face. "He forces himself upon an unconscious woman, refuses to fight her husband, the husband kills him and now it's suddenly the husband's fault? No, I don't agree at all."

"I don't think anyone here agrees." Doran's voice was resigned. "But I cannot refuse them a trial. And there is only one sentence that I can issue. Gillerd acted in front of five witnesses. There is no way to get him out of this. And if I try, things will only become worse. The Vaiths will turn to the King's justice, claiming that they didn't get one from me. If Aerys gets it into his head that I'm trying to play the almighty ruler only a Targaryen is entitled to be, no Dornishman around him would be safe… or should I say, they'll be even more unsafe than they are now."

His father narrowed his eyes. "What do you know? What happened?"

Doran reached into his tunic and placed a parchment on the table. "This arrived here not two hours ago. Rhaegar Targaryen had abducted Lord Stark's daughter and disappeared with her. Brandon Stark rode to King's Landing to challenge him and got arrested. The Seven Kingdoms are on the brink of a war, unless Aerys' wisdom can find a way to avoid it," he added sarcastically. "Elia is still bedridden, no one knows whether she's going to live… not that Rhaegar cares… and no one of her Dornish retinue is allowed to leave the Red Keep. I believe you know just how many people of how many Houses we sent with her. Should we made a step in any direction that Aerys dislikes… which would include breaking the letter of justice… we might pay dearly."

Ashara's fear turned to horror when she heard Arel ask, "What about Arthur? Where does he stand in this?"

There was something cold and hateful in Doran's eyes although only a moment later, it disappeared, hidden behind his polite manners. "Since he's disappeared, as well, it's hard to say for sure. But I daresay he chose his first loyalty – and it was not Elia or Dorne. It was the man who dishonoured Elia so. And I doubt he'd do anything to protect those left behind. Not if Aerys or Rhaegar tell him not to."

His eyes moved to Ashara and she shivered at the quiet rage in them. "I think you are lucky, my lady, that you aren't at King's Landing right now," he said. "Very lucky indeed."


	6. The Heavy Hand of Dread

Falling Stars and Bright Sunlight

_The Heavy Hand of Dread_

Truth was really overrated goods.

Ashara came to that conclusion as she watched the heavy cloud of anxiety that had fallen around the Old Palace, Oberyn's anger and Doran's anguished silence. From time to time, Oberyn and Alric gave way to their tensions by fighting each other in a way that would make one think they were mortal foes, instead of father and son. Loreza rarely left her chambers by the day but she often walked all night long though the gardens, a white wraith in the veil of shadows, consumed by guilt. Secretly, Ashara felt that her friend should feel guilty. She was supposed to know her husband's volatile temper better than anyone. She shouldn't have told him. No one would have ever suggested that Loreza's children's father was anyone else but Gillerd – it was a well-known fact that she never looked at another man twice.

Unfortunately, Ashara was not the only one who felt this way. Gillerd's mother, Lady Isanne, did not hesitate in accusing her gooddaughter of bad judgment which only served to upset Loreza more and prompt Alric, in no uncertain terms, to ask his goodsister to please be so kind as not to approach his daughter any more.

"She never forgave Gillerd for wedding Loreza," Naeryn Sand told Ashara after the few chosen words those two had exchanged echoed all around the Red Keep. "And now she feels she has been proven right."

For a moment, Ashara thought of her own dead babe, of the possibility that it might have been a girl. She had always imagined it as a boy. She was not quite sure why. A boy who might rise on his merits or be forever left on his trueborn kin's mercy. But it might have been a girl whom no mother would want to wed her son to. As much as she wanted to attribute Lady Gargalen's attitude to her Reach origin and upbringing, Ashara knew that Dornishwomen were not that different. Even Naeryn Sand, of the blood of Martells, Gargalens, and the dragons themselves was not a desirable bride. She was well-connected, educated, and one of the most beautiful women in Westeros, and still it wasn't enough. It wouldn't have been even if she had been born without the stain of a missing hand. Being a bastard was hard even in Dorne. For the first time, Ashara could _feel_ that she hadn't deprived her babe of a happy life, not really. And for her, truth would have ruined her life. It still could, if somehow a proof emerged.

And Loreza's babe … It would be a victim of truth widely known, just like its mother and her husband would be.

"I warned her not to tell anyone," Naeryn went on. "Aunt Arianne also did but of course, Loreza valued honesty above all else. She couldn't keep her mouth shut, for everyone's sake. Oh no, not her."

Ashara realized that she wasn't surprised that the late Princess of Dorne had dispensed such an advice. Arianne Martell had been nothing if not cool-headed. Like Doran and Elia. And unlike Oberyn.

"I wish she had," she heard her own voice say.

"We all do. Doran and I. My mother and uncles. Elia would have advised her to keep silent, too. I think even Oberyn agrees, although he'll never admit it."

Elia… For the last month, that was another thing Ashara could not stop thinking of. She imagined her bedridden, fighting to regain the tiniest bit of energy and at the same time subjected to the whispers and ridicule of the court, and she felt irrational guilt for getting herself into a mess of her own, one that separated her from Elia and the rest of them. Had Rhaegar finally lost his damned mind? Unlike most courtiers, unlike Arthur, Ashara had never quite brought herself to like the Prince of Dragonstone. In the beginning, she had become touched by her sad appeal but well, that had worn off after the first few months. A man should be a man. A prince should be a prince and not reinvent himself as a damned singer… when he could tear himself from his books, that was it. For a while, Ashara had taken hope when he had started making the first tiny steps to remove his father from power, only to have this hope crushed when he refrained from acting as soon as Aerys announced he'd be coming to Summerhall. _What kind of king are we going to have_, she had whispered to Arthur angrily. _One who gives up at the first hurdle! _He had scolded her for being a stupid girl but Ashara had felt sure that she was the one in the right. Rhaegar could make a great king when things happened the way he wanted them. But when they didn't… he just abandoned them, unable to deal with anything that didn't play out as he had planned or… read it. The measure of a man, the measure of a king was now he fared under the worst of circumstances, not the best ones… when he could be bothered to leave the realm of his books and prophecies. Ashara was quite scared of a future with Rhaegar Targaryen on the Iron Throne.

And now he had disappeared with the wolf girl. A mere child. Ashara had disliked her immediately for batting her eyelashes at Rhaegar and embarrassing herself with her open adulation of him. But in the long run, Lyanna Stark and her foolishness mattered not. Rhaegar was the one who had humiliated Elia twice over. He was the one who was responsible for her – and now Elia was a prisoner of her own flesh and her Dornish retinue prisoners to Aerys' madness. All the stories Ashara had heard, all that she had seen had chosen the time present to rush to her mind. She prayed for all of them… as well as Brandon Stark who still dwelled in the damp windowless precincts that were the dungeons of the Red Keep.

"I can't believe everything happened at the same time," she said. Arianne's death, Loreza's trouble, Elia almost dying, Rhaegar's madness, her own circumstances… it was almost too much.

"I can," Naeryn said. "And I'll tell you something: I don't know the details, but it was something Rhaegar might have been planning for a while."

Ashara gave her a look of surprise. Naeryn had just returned from a long journey out of Dorne. Could she have heard something? _Rhaegar and long-term planning. As if! _But her intention to ask what the other woman meant went forgotten when a great bustle in the hallways alerted them to Loreza's labour starting a month early.

* * *

><p>"Aren't you going to bed already?"<p>

Ashara gave her brother a long look, as concerned about him as he was about her. Loreza's travail has been taking three days already and the worry settled above the Old Palace like a heavy hand squeezing everything in its iron fist. Ashara was no exception. Although she was not allowed to enter the birthing chamber, which was a good thing since she wasn't sure at all that she'd want to, the memory of her miscarriage assaulted her day and night, mixed with the remembrance of Elia's long, horrifying labour with Rhaenys and the two poor things coming out of Shanai's womb dead, too early to survive, still unformed, still not human. No doubt Arel was haunted by his own memories and the knowledge that future held no change for him. Even if Shanai overcame her fear of marital relations, she would never give him a living child.

"Are you?"

He shook his head and took a seat.

"How is it going?" Ashara asked.

"Still nothing," Arel replied. "They say she's getting there but it will take more time." He paused. "Oberyn and Alric are at it again."

Ashara was surprised that he had left them fighting. His presence was always a great mainstay to Alric who got along with his former ward better than he did with Oberyn.

Arel must have read her thoughts because he said, "Doran was there, so it was safe for me to leave."

For a while, Ashara stood at the window, gazing out at the starless night and from time to time, looking at the light behind Loreza's window. She could not see the Spear Tower but she wondered whether Gillerd had been told, whether he was looking out the window right now and worrying. She prayed for a safe delivery, for a just sentence for Gillerd, for everything to be all right. Somehow. If they pulled through this, Elia at King's Landing would pull through her ordeal as well. If Elia did, their people there would be safe. If they were safe, Rhaegar would come to his senses and return the girl to her family. If, if, if…

It was a little after midnight when Alric entered the solar. There were no remnants of his usual energy clinging to him. The lack of sleep had caught up with him, carving deep lines into his face and making his steps staggering. His bright eyes were now dim, stunned into utter blankness. "It's over," he said without preamble, sinking against the dark velvet of the nearest chair. "The child was dead. He had probably died before labour started."

_It might be for the best_, Ashara thought and was appalled by her own cruelty. But a dead babe might let the scandal be forgotten after a while. A live one would carry it forever, although the only ones who knew for sure that Loreza's husband was not the father were Loreza and Gillerd themselves, as well as those closest to them. The very existence of Naeryn Sand who could be Ashara's cousin or Maelys Blackfyre's bastard was enough to keep her mother forever as a subject of all kinds of salacious rumours.

"How is she?" Ashara asked.

Alric sighed. His mouth tightened into a barely visible line. "She thinks she is to blame for this, as well. Somehow. She was holding onto the body, screaming that she was so sorry that she didn't keep silent, that none of this would have happened… She was fighting the maesters, so we had to bodily hold her down as they poured a sleeping draught into her mouth."

He paused. He had been though similar experiences, twice, with Arianne and it never became easier to bear.

Arel, who had gone through this as well, rose and went to pour himself a goblet of wine that he downed in a single gulp.

"Pour one for me, as well," Alric said.

Arel did.

"One for me, please," Ashara followed.

He brought the goblets to them and they drank without calling for appetizers. The wine hit Ashara straight in the head, bringing on a nice numbness of mind.

"I'm scared of what she will do when Gillerd receives his sentence," Alric finally said.

That did not sound good. All of a sudden, Ashara was completely sober. "Isn't there a way to let him go?" she asked.

Alric shook his head. Law was law, and being right did not equal being acquitted.

"I have to go," he said after a while. "I am sorry I disturbed you at this hour but I couldn't stay alone."

"It's all right," Arel said. "I am glad you came."

_He probably is, in a strange way_, Ashara thought. But that did not mean he was less haunted, less disturbed. When she finally went to her bedchamber, she heard him leaving their apartment and wondered whether he would go to Larra, whether his determination to end their relationship because it was the honourable thing to do would be strong enough to resist the burden of memories, the feeling of a future disaster, the need of comfort, as brief as it was. She hoped that he was. Because something deep within her told her that the dead babe born to this young, healthy, and strong mother was more than a tiny body that Loreza would not be parted from.

Yes, Ashara felt it. It was an ill omen for a future of blood and grief.


	7. Justice and Fairness

Falling Stars and Bright Sunlight

_Justice and Fairness_

"Would you like to return to Starfall?"

Ashara stared at her brother, as if she could not believe he was even asking such a question. "Go to Starfall? Now?"

Arel realized his mistake and ran a weary hand through his hair. "Listen, I am only concerned about you. You cannot truly help anyone and the whole situation is hard on you. I really don't think you need to see Lady Aelinor right now… she's arriving tomorrow and they say she's great with child."

Ashara shook her head, confused. "Naeryn's mother is with child?"

"Yes," Arel said and looked down. "Such things happen."

"Indeed they do. To some women more often than others." A note of fierce anger underlined by sadness crept in her voice. "How many times did it happen to Mother and that brigand who was stealing our inheritance and starving our smallfolk? Two times? Or was it three? Yes, I think it was three… that I know of."

Arel spat an obscene oath at himself in his head. He had done his best to protect her and Arthur from the ugly reality of how low their mother had fallen after their father's near lethal accident. He had been complacent, letting himself believe that he had _succeeded_.

"Don't think about it now," he said, looking around at the solar that they shared and that suddenly felt too small to contain the weight of fury, helplessness, and pain they had fought so hard to leave behind.

"I do," she breathed. "Every day. How was it once again? Like mother, like daughter."

"No!" Arel raised his hand to stop her and rose. "This isn't true. Don't even think about it."

"How could I not? Lately, I've been scared that she might… that she might _return_."

Her horrified whisper was so low that he didn't as much hear her last word as intuited it. "She won't," he said firmly. "She's well aware that she isn't welcome. And the money from Starfall will keep coming only if she keeps her distance. It's in the past. All in the past. It's over."

"No,"Ashara whispered. "It isn't. It changed all of us. I wonder whether Arthur would have strove so hard to prove his honour if It wasn't for her dishonour? Would I have been so determined to prove myself so different from everyone, to live life to the fullest before I settled down if I wasn't afraid that I might seek it later at the first disappointment? And what did she do to you, I don't want to think about. You should have been like the others, fostered away with no care until you were grown up. You could have been the Sword of the Morning, do you remember?"

Arel looked away. "I prefer not to remember things that could have been… or not. Arthur is the one and he's doing it…"

He would have said, "With honour" but rethought. "Splendidly," he said instead.

"You could have done it just as splendidly," Ashara insisted. "I remember what the master-at-arms-used to say. But you never get the chance to practice the way Arthur did. You had to be our shield against them when you were but a boy who had so much to learn. And look where we are. Arthur is the Seven knows where following the whims of someone who's headed his father's way. And the two of us are here, in the middle of the night, without anything good in sight. No happiness that we can even glimpse."

He felt a pang of pain as he was listening to her. But he knew she was right. He touched her cheek. "But we survived, Ashara. Some nights, I didn't think we would and yet, it happened. I won't let the past disturb you unduly. I want you to leave Sunspear. It'll only become worse here. People are gathering for Gillerd's trial and they no doubt will start questioning you about the Red Keep and Aerys and I don't think you have anything reassuring to tell them."

The look that his sister gave him made him shudder. It was nothing short of bleak hopelessness, with fear lurking behind. "I only hope the hostages do nothing to gain his notice," she whispered. "And that it is enough."

* * *

><p>At the end, she didn't leave for Starfall. Very few people left Sunspear those days – the lords and ladies who had come for their annual council with their overlord figured that since the council was only shortly delayed, it would be better to stay in their Sunspear houses, rather than travelling to their own seats and then returning almost immediately. Besides, by now everyone knew that the Prince of Dragonstone had disappeared with a girl he had no business ever talking to and that had fueled Aerys' madness. Their own sons and daughters were hostages for Princess Elia's good behavior, as well as Dorne, should something happen. It would, everyone whispered. With a madman, it always did. And when it did – whatever <em>it<em> turned out to be, - Sunspear would be the first place where news would come. So, no one was leaving.

The Old Palace was filled with everyone it could accommodate and then some. At the end, Arel and Ashara were forced to move out of their chambers, with Arel going to sleep in Alric's antechamber and Ashara sharing Naeryn's bedchamber – a very unsettling accommodation since they were both very anxious, hissed at each other like angry cats, _and_ Naeryn had this habit of pacing when nervous. Ashara looked at her, felt her irritation grow, reckoned that by now, her friend must have walked half the way to the Wall, and thought that Naeryn looked like a beast in a pit – clawing at its walls but unable to get out.

At leaving the chambers, she inevitably happened upon someone who asked fearfully was it really this bad at King's Landing. Were their people in danger? Soon, Ashara started going out only with a hood she tugged around her face to hide as much of it as possible. Of course, that meant that she couldn't see too well, so she constantly tripped into her own hem.

It's been a week since Loreza's stillbirth when her husband's trial started. Now, Ashara truly wished that she had listened to Arel and gone home. Arel knew everything, he always had. He had known how ugly it would be. Even at King's Landing, Ashara had never experienced such horror, such feeling of being tainted just by being there and listening.

An invisible wall separated the throne room in two. While the septon was singing his way through the prayer, Ashara used the momentary hush to take stock of the situation. She was surprised to see how many people sat in sympathetic half-circle around Lord Vaith. Surely the accident could not warrant such attention? But of course, it wasn't the actual murder that drew the unrest. For too long, Mikkel Gargalen had wielded too much influence with his goodsister and now his nephew. Too long, too much.

"There will be too many of those who'll do their best to see him convicted," Lady Allyrion had told Mikkel just yesterday. "Yes, I know the young Vaith was likely guilty. We all know that the girls from pleasure houses talk of his love of cruelty. And Loreza isn't a woman who's careless with her favours. But you must understand – you were too impertinent in the taking. You and Carral both. What is this, being always the first ones to be consulted and the ones who always get to pick the first choosing when favours are concerned."

"Right!" Mikkel had snapped. "And did it ever occurred to you that we aren't given this and that just because? Where in the seven hells were those vultures when work had to be done?"

The small woman hadn't been moved at all by his anger. "Don't tell me that you deserved such largesse," she had said calmly. "Of course you did. Who would have given it to you otherwise? But it was too much. Insultingly much for all others… Now too many long to see your downfall. Someone has to pay. Someone always pays. It'll be a hard day tomorrow. Ah, my lord, you're a smart man. You know I'm right."

Today, the lady looked just as composed as she had last night. Mikkel had swept all emotions away from his face and didn't move a muscle even when his son was brought into the throne room closely escorted by guards, like a common brigand.

To Ashara's surprise, Gillerd looked composed as well. Very gaunt, with a single vein pulsing at his temple, the bruises under his eyes showed the torment of the sleep-deprived. But he looked calm, save for the brief moment his eyes rested over his wife. There was nothing of Loreza's famed beauty left in this bloated face with flakes. The swollen belly still sticking out under her gown clearly reminded everyone that until very recently, she had been with child and caused a flow of half-whispered speculations whose this babe had been. Only Alynna's grip over her hand and whisper in her ear seemed to stop her from fainting right there. _They shouldn't have let her come_, Ashara thought despite the fact that when she had first heard that Alric didn't wish for his daughter to attend, she had railed inwardly, _Now you're very concerned. Maybe you should have been when you left her without someone to watch over her day and night when she was a helpless victim for every drunkard who decided to pass by_.

Everything was so sickening. For a while, Ashara allowed herself some hope because the fact that the child had been stillborn meant that there was no holdback for Gillerd to say why he had reacted so violently, why he had believed immediately that the other man had indeed bedded his own wife. Before, he would have never admitted this much, would not have thrown Loreza to the wolves as a woman who would give birth to a child who was not her husband's and try to pass it for his. Neither she and the babe nor their own older child would have ever been able to escape the scandal. But now, it was different. There was only one victim.

But soon, Ashara came to realize that fairness and justice was not the same thing. She believed Loreza and Gillerd – but the law had no reason to.

"Did the lady tell you who her supposed attacker was?" the accuser – a small man Ashara didn't know – asked.

"No," Gillerd replied. "She was _unconscious_ at the time."

"Or so she says," the balding man muttered to himself, causing a riot in the hall. Almost all of the women rose and gave an indignant cry and Doran, seemingly having trouble in containing his fury, asked the man and Lord Vaith to be as good as to refrain from such insinuations.

But the evil was already done. In the faces of many of the people present, Ashara could see that they did, indeed, doubt the authenticity of Loreza's story. She was a bastard. A woman born of lust herself. Someone who didn't _belong_ with wedded women, no matter how highborn she was. The very fact that she had managed to make her cousin wrap the cloak around her shoulders meant that she could make him believe everything she said, believe that she was a victim and not the whore she might very well be.

"Arel?" she whispered. "This is bad, isn't it?"

He gave her a grim look and clasped her hand. Despite his outright composure, his fingers were cold and clammy. "It'll only become worse," he said.

And it did. Gillerd couldn't deny that he hadn't thought to ask Davel Vaith whether he had indeed forced himself on Loreza, or had it been just a night of shared pleasure. _Sleeping_ did not mean _unconscious_. She might have been simply sleeping a hangover away. Lashing out in blind rage because a drunken man said something was no way to go in life. Justice was never found in the bottom of one's goblet. Surely he could have demanded an explanation when it became clear that the other man would not fight. Listening to the many arguments, Ashara almost found herself agreeing. After all, the law demanded proof, not rage… and then she looked at Loreza and her mind was clear once again. By the Mother, this was someone she had known since her time in the Water Gardens! Someone whose entire world was called Gillerd.

The tension grew with every new witness, every question Gillerd had no convincing answer to. He had acted on feelings; law was concerned only with proven facts. Of which he had none.

Slowly, Ashara came to realize that he would see no fairness. The mood in the palace and city had been such that Doran himself would better watch out his steps. Many blamed him for being too peaceful, for sending his sister to King's Landing at all – and their own children, sisters, and brothers with her. Of course, that was his late mother's doing and not his but that was conveniently forgotten. And the fact that at the time, everyone had been thrilled was of no importance now. Even the smallfolk outside howled with rage over the injustice being done to Elia and didn't understand why Doran would not simply demand her back. He could ill afford to stir more unrest by issuing a judgment that would be in such a blatant disrespect of law. After all, who was Gillerd? He was only Doran's cousin! Even Prince Oberyn had not been above punishment as everyone well knew.

But justice would mean a death warrant. That was the punishment for unprovoked murder.

What would win? Politics of family feelings?

At the end of the day, Ashara saw everything in a red blur and Loreza did not have enough strength left to hold her own head up.

"I am ready with my judgment," Doran announced and Ashara blinked and did her best to focus on him. She had never seen him this pale.

Whispers rippled through the crowd. Every pair of eyes in the hall was now fixed on their prince.

"No one can usurp the power of justice and proclaim themselves accuser, judge, and executor in the same time," Doran started. "Not even my own blood."

He was now staring at his cousin who stared back without remorse and Ashara saw that he fought to keep cool. She tried to do the same, although she couldn't believe it. Doran would not do such a thing, surely? He would not sentence his cousin to death? He would not implicitly dub his half-sister a whore?

"A man tainted with such a stain can no longer live among us," Doran said. "From this moment on, you're an outcast from Dorne. You shall leave tonight, never to return. You aren't allowed to take anything but the clothes on your back, not even your name which shall no longer be spoken among us. To Dorne, you are dead."

For a moment, there was an absolute silence crashing against the coloured glass of the windows. Then, Loreza screamed, "No!" before collapsing. Her head hit the wooden chair before her. Alynna tried to lift her and failed.

Everyone in the hall was now shouting – at least Ashara thought so. Half of the people yelled that this was no justice, that there were different rules for Gargalens and the rest of Dorne and the other half railed that every man was entitled to defend his wife with all he had. Ashara's head started pulsating heavily; she watched through a haze how Gillerd started to go to Loreza but the guards stopped him. He tore his eyes away with visible effort and bowed to Doran, very low, before the men took him away.

_We must be glad that he was spared_, Ashara thought. But she wasn't sure that the fate Doran had condemned Gillerd to was much better than dead.

* * *

><p>She could hardly wait for the council to start and be over, so she could go back home. In fact, she was very much inclined to accept Arel's offer and leave the very next morning. Sunspear was no longer a place she wanted to be. And news could find her at Startall as well as here. Her brother would take care of that. Now, she only waited for the day to break. And when it broke, then what? She had no answer.<p>

It was already near midnight. The palace and city had finally calmed down – barely. Ashara sat on the balcony of Naeryn's bedchamber and argued with herself whether she was strong-willed enough to rise and take a shawl. She was so cold… But everything that she knew and didn't know, everything that had happened had wearied her down so much that making the few steps back to the inside of the chamber looked like a huge effort.

A movement made her turn her head, slowly. She had expected Naeryn but it was Oberyn. Something in his face made her drag herself back to the room. He looked numb.

"Is Naeryn here?" he asked. His voice was strange, hollow.

Ashara shook her head, confused. "No… I don't know where she is…"

He drew a hand across his forehead. "You might be better fitted, in fact… Come with me."

"Just wait for a moment."

She went to the wardrobe and pulled out the first shawl she saw.

"Where are we going?"

He didn't reply.

At this hour, there was no one in the hallways of the Old Palace. Ashara tried once again to coax an explanation out of him but he seemed to be focusing all his energy on breathing.

When they reached a chamber in the family wing, Oberyn finally gave her a look. "Help me," he said. "Do everything you can to put her in order. I don't want my father to see her like this. And I… I can't…"

"Who?" she asked, not understanding. "How?"

He didn't answer, just pushed the door open. Now, Ashara saw that his hands were shaking so much that he could not hold anything. Probably that was the reason he had asked her for help. She entered.

Till the end of her life, she would never forget the silence of the bedchamber, with its velvet and comfort. The place meant for people to rest, forget the rest of the world.

The place Loreza Gargalen had chosen to end her life.

With a strangled cry, Ashara ran for her, for the corner where the prepared cradle still sat. Loreza had not let anyone take it out. She was now kneeling before it, her arm thrown over the side as if she wanted to stroke a sleeping child.

Ashara took the arm and removed it. It was very heavy and already starting to benumb. Her other hand still held the hilt of the dagger she had plunged in her heart. In the carpet, a thick line of blood had already started to congeal.


	8. Turmoil

Falling Stars and Bright Sunlight

_Turmoil_

"Is he going to be allowed to attend her funeral?"

Arel shook his head. "It'll be too dangerous. It'll increase the risk for him. The sentence was announced and there is enough discontent with it already. If it's seen in any way to be less than real…"

He did not need to clarify. If Doran broke his word, his sentence now, Gillerd might not make it alive to the port to leave Dorne.

"How did he take it?" she asked sharply.

"Not well, I am told," her brother sighed. "He raged for hours, insisting that they let him attend. He was… harming himself, so at the end they had to have him bodily restrained."

Raging. Harming himself. To her horror, Ashara felt an onrush of fear. Aerys had taught her to fear rage… and Gillerd did carry the blood tainted with madness as well.

"When is the funeral going to take place?" she demanded.

"Tomorrow morning. There is… there is no need to put it off."

"Of course," Ashara agreed sarcastically and started pacing the solar angrily. "Of course there is no need to postpone. After all, we'd all want to forget that there was someone named Loreza whose death couldn't have been avoided, oh, it couldn't have…"

For a while, Arel watched her silently. He realized that her grief for her friend was sharpened by the realization just how close she had been to this same fate. If she had given birth to her babe… If she had come even close to showing… All that had been heaped upon Loreza would have been heaped upon her. Dorne was not such a bad place for people who had bastards – as long as they were men.

Ashara kicked a pillow off her way and turned to stare at him angrily. "What does Lord Alric think?" she asked. "I expect that he might have something to say about his daughter being hidden in the ground so hurriedly as if she has wronged someone, instead of being wronged?"

"Don't start with him," Arel warned. His own nerves were getting quite rough. "He has nothing to do with what happened. And no, he is in no way fit to make any decisions right now. In fact, I don't think he'll be able to attend the funeral."

Ashara laughed tartly. "Of course he won't be. And of course I should not start with him. After all, what could he have done? The answer is, at least tried to change something! But no, it was so important to make Elia queen that she had to stay with the Mad King's son after he humiliated her – and let me tell you, Rhaegar isn't that far behind, he's just more charming! And now she's stuck in the Red Keep, unable to leave her bed… It was so important to keep the lords and ladies sweet that his daughter and nephew could be sacrificed – and they were! Don't tell me that Doran wouldn't have listened to him. Princess Arianne followed his advice in some situations when it would have been better not to!"

Arel's patience had finally worn out. He had had to watch the entire debacle of a trial helplessly, see the aftermath of a cruel and unfair but inevitable decision, all the while fighting the memories of how close Shanai had been to Loreza's state with the last miscarriages, the fear that despair might drive her to do what Loreza had done. He did his best to help Alric and his sons but he could not help himself. Only Larra could offer some comfort and while he despised his own weakness that rendered him unable to reject it, the day of her wedding was coming closer and then, he'd lose even that. While he was usually quite tolerant to Ashara's outbursts – and almost invariably kind, - he was in no mood to put up with her childish ways now. He could have taken it from Allyria but Ashara was a woman grown. Or at least, she was supposed to be. Surely by now, she must have learned that the world was not only white and black?

But then, how could she have? Their mother had not been one to lead by example. He shook his head wearily. "You aren't being fair, Ashara. He tries to do the best for his children, always has. And he's asking himself what he could have done to make things different, you can believe me. He's wondering what he did wrong… Even in those last few weeks, he tried to turn things the way that would be best for her. I know people look at him with envy, seeing only his power, the way he can be to his enemies, and all the women he has had his name linked to – but I expected better of you. He isn't that different from everyone else, you know. And just like everyone else, his love for his children knows no limits. He's in the throes of pain like everyone else…"

Ashara looked away, refusing to listen to him. It was so much easier when the world was neatly divided in two. Arel sighed and fell silent.

Abruptly, the door was thrown open to admit Alynna Gargalen. Her face, bloated and parched up from weeping, was now frozen in utter, absolute shock.

"We're in a war," she said without preamble.

* * *

><p>For a while, Ashara clung to the hope that it was all a huge mistake. Somehow. But when a second raven came, and then a third one, there was no denying of the facts.<p>

She wept for weeks without end for Brandon Stark, the intensity of her grief stunning her. She had not loved him. She had never thought that she might have a future with him. But he had been so vibrant, so _alive_. For all his bragging and passionate desire for her, he had been nothing but gentle with her once he realized that he would be her first. Yes, she had railed against him, cursed him even when she realized that she would be the one to deal with the aftermath of what had been a doing of both of them – but it had never been something more than bitterness against the world that let men just away scot-free while women's lives were ruined. In the slow months of her recovery, she had willed for him to pay somehow. But she had never envisioned such an end. Never wished it. It didn't look right, it was all wrong. Brandon Stark had been sword, and fury, and passion for everything in life. He had been life itself. And now, this life was no more.

What was going on in King's Landing? With Elia and her babes, and the rest of the Dornish hostages? With kind Queen Rhaella and lovely Viserys? Sometimes, Ashara wanted to scream because she was the only one at Sunspear who knew just how prone to cruelty Aerys was when he felt his authority challenged – and this rebellion was the greatest challenge he had encountered since Duskendale.

Ashara's fear grew by the day. For now, it was only three kingdoms that had raised their banners in rebellion… but for how long would they stay three? And when was the war going to reach Dorne? One of the rebel kingdoms _was_ the Stormlands. Soon enough, Aerys and his lickspittles would remember that Dorne was the most suitable region to fight the Stormlords. It had practice spanning thousands of years, after all!

It was clear that Dorne could no longer allow the luxury of having its most prominent lords and ladies crowded in Sunspear. Soon, the war would come to them and even before that, it would be best for everyone to be where they belonged to form the best defense possible for every eventuality. All around Westeros, allegiances were changing so fast and those in King's Landings were so unpredictable that one could not trust even the opposite of what they were saying.

New routes for the ravens were being designed, just in case. Everyone was ordered to keep their men at-arms in the best shape possible. But Dorne would not enter the war unless forced to.

And Prince Rhaegar and the wolf girl had not appeared yet.

In the buzz and bewilderment of the news, Loreza's funeral went almost unnoticed. Seething with resentment, Ashara noted that Alric did, indeed, fail to make appearance. But he didn't show up for a few days in his son's Council either and when he finally emerged from his chamber, he looked deader than Loreza right before they interred her.

Gillerd was escorted to a ship at dawn the next day. He was walking so amenably that Ashara wondered whether he had been given some potion to assure that he wouldn't create problems. But as he approached the gate that would take him out of the quadrangle, he turned and looked back, and the hopelessness in his face told her that he had simply exhausted all his rage and grief. There was no white in his eyes, only red and black. On his cheeks and brow, scrapes were still woozing. There were even some streaks and Ashara did not know how he had gained those. Surely he had not been given a blade? His lips and palms were bruised and bitten all over. His blank reddened eyes took in the building that had been his second home for all his life before he turned and gestured at the guards that he was ready.

Mikkel Gargalen stood at a window and watched, his face pressed against the glass. Silent sobs shook him. Behind him, Isanne lay curled into the big bed where he was no longer welcome and slept, exhausted by weeping and taken by the sleeping draught they had forced into her mouth.

"Is he going to return?" his youngest asked from behind his shoulder. "Ever?"

Mikkel shook his head, for he could not actually say the words.

Two days later, on a quiet ceremony with almost no guests, Larra Blackmont wed Garon Dalt. They were among the last of the Martell bannermen to leave Sunspear, along with Arel, and Ashara was not surprised that she and her brother were invited to the wedding – to do anything else would be poor taste on Larra's part indeed. But she could not help but notice the desolation flickering over Arel's face as Larra said her vows without faltering, and she knew that despite his words to Larra all those months ago, he would not look for another to bed. It was not passion that he was after, not the way it had been with her and Brandon Stark. She could only hope that whatever had existed between him and Shanai could still be restored but after seeing Loreza next to that empty cradle, she doubted it. For some women, desperation was too raw.

Still, Ashara couldn't fathom how Loreza could have wished to die when she had been such a beauty and by all accounts, had a delightful son. When she had still been holding Doran's favour, with all the benefits it would have brought her. In her place, Ashara would have spit in the face of those who spread rumours and sought to destroy her. She would have paraded with the child in front of them so they would be green with envy.

_Maybe I am not like all other women_, she thought and this time, she didn't think it in a good way, as if she were someone special, better.

At Starfall, Shanai welcomed them with visible relief and a lot of questions… and news. It turned out that as they had been sailing, the first ravens had already come. Eddard Stark had wed Hoster Tully's eldest girl – _Brandon's betrothed_, Ashara thought bleakly – and Jon Arryn had espoused her younger sister. For a moment, Ashara felt vastly sorry for Lysa Tully because Lord Arryn was surely old enough to be her grandfather. And then she realized what those unions meant.

"Has Rhaegar appeared?" Arel asked and Ashara wanted to scream because even if the foolish prince returned the girl now, it could no longer stop the things, and yet it would be better than if they kept hiding wherever they were, and oh, what was to happen with Elia and the children now that Aerys certainly had any reason to be scared and enraged?

"No," Shanai said.

"Does anyone know anything about Arthur?" he asked.

She cast her eyes down. "No," she repeated. "Or if they do, they don't say it in their letters."


	9. The Place Where a Star Used to Be

Huge thanks to everyone who reviewed!

**The title of this chapter was taken from the truly magnificent poem Submergence, by D. H. Lawrence.**

Falling Stars and Bright Sunlight

_The Place Where a Star Used to Be_

The dawn three weeks after their return brought a ship carrying Errol Gargalen to Starfall. "Doran sent me to oversee the preparation of the Prince's Pass," he said briefly by the way of explaining. "He's careful of the way Anders Yronwood is organizing things there."

"Yronwood might try something?" Arel asked sharply. "Is that what you're saying?"

"I'm sure it isn't," Shanai said but of course, she'd like for it not to be so. She was Allyrion of Godsgrace, her brother would soon wed Lord Yronwood's daughter. Ashara was far more skeptical.

"It isn't," Errol confirmed, to her surprise. "Not… exactly. But one can never be too cautious, now, can they? The Yronwoods' support for forced hostile to Sunspear has not been a secret through years. Anyway, Larra also wants to consult me."

"Doesn't she have a new husband to consult with?"

The edge in Shanai's voice clearly surprised Errol who looked from Arel to Ashara but neither of them was keen to explain.

"She still asked Doran for someone." He paused. "I am thinking of leaving after noon, if you would have me until then."

"Of course we will," Lady Dayne said, the perfect hostess once again. She even smiled and looked sincere. Maybe she was. Generally, people liked Errol Gargalen. He had inherited all of Mikkel's silver handsomeness and none of his outer cold. Highly capable yet always easily approachable and smiling. Mikkel could still turn a head at every crowd, always had, but his son could warm a heart. He did warm the hearts of everyone around him. Startled, Ashara realized for the first time just how similar he looked to Rhaegar when he was pale and tense. The difference in their expression had hid the resemblance between them. Rhaegar's melancholy appealed to many but Ashara had always been drawn to warmth.

And yet he now lacked it. Ashara shivered, chilled by a sudden fear. What would happen? She well knew that while Rhaegar read of prophecies, Errol lived them. The last time he had appeared out of the blue looking like this had been on Arel's fifteenth nameday… She swallowed. She would not think of that night.

"Do you… know something?" she finally asked. "Errol, have you seen? Have you dreamed? You look…"

He shook his head. "No," he said, too quickly. "I had to send Alynna unexpectedly to Braavos, that's all."

The other three stared at him. "Send her to Essos?" Arel echoed. "Why?"

"My sister isn't… well. The problem is, my mother is ill and Naeryn cannot really leave, with Aunt Aelinor so close to her time… Lanore asked that someone goes. And my brothers and I are needed here, in Dorne, just in case Baratheon somehow succeeds in getting the entire Stormlands behind him."

Everyone said a silent thanks to the Seven for Robert Baratheon's wayward ways that had disaffected many of his bannermen. If he had the full strength of the Stormlands behind him, he could have spared some for Dorne and still have enough left to head straight for King's Landing.

Behind them, the servants started laying the morning meal out. Usually, they preferred breaking their fast here, on the terrace overlooking the sea. It was glorious at dawn and early morning, the golden head of the sun promising warmth and hope, spreading the fabric of hope over the small ripples of the waves. Ashara smelled milk and clenched her throat involuntarily. In the months after her miscarriage, milk had been one of the very few nourishments she could tolerate. She never wanted to drink it again.

"Is she well?" she asked about Errol's sister whom she hadn't seen in many years.

He shrugged. "She has wed the new Sealord," he announced, to their stunned gasps. The man had been all but caused the death of the old Sealord, for the Mother's sake! It felt sinister that he'd wed his rival's widow.

But of course, it made sense. The Sealord was elected, not someone who inherited. And for someone who would rather think only of himself than having to advance his family's future, there was no better wife than the old Sealord's widow. Lanore the Barren.

Shanai bit her lip, looking crushed. Arel squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"Aerys demanded that we squash the Stormlords for him," Errol announced, clearly unwilling to discuss his sister further but unable to stand his concern alone. "The ravens from King's Landing arrive every day… or two times a day."

"And?" Ashara asked.

He barked out a laugh. "What do you think? That we're fighting his war just for the joy of having dead men of our own and not even a thanks, let alone a queen on the Iron Throne?"

Shanai's goblet thumped on the floor, staining her ivory gown with blood. Wine, of course, not blood, but that was how the red suddenly looked to Ashara. The red of war. The red of death.

"Has the Prince made his intentions about Princess Elia clear?"

"He still hasn't made his _location_ clear," Errol replied. "We're still stuck in the same position we were before. We'll fight for him if need be, of course. Which is why I have to make sure that both passes are in the condition Doran wants them to be and there would be no surprises from our stormy neighbours."

Shanai who looked surprised by her own reaction from moments ago sharply took a breath. "I think we'll have a stormy surprise anyway," she said.

The other three followed her eyes to the horizon. The sky over the sea was, all of a sudden, no longer rose and gold. Instead, it burned like a flame licking earth coated with tar.

"Errol," Arel said. "I think you'd better stay here for the day."

His friend nodded and turned his attention to the upcoming storm. The heavenly fire had started fading to pale grey starkness with frightening swiftness.

"The storm is coming," he finally said. And then, without pausing, "The King is getting frantically scared for his lineage and crown. After seizing and killing Brandon Stark for threatening his wayward son, it's us who are under his suspicion now…"

Ashara just felt herself going white. What had the madman come up with now?

"Aemon is his uncle, King Aegon's son," Errol said, almost inaudibly. "It looks like he's gotten it into his head – or someone has fed him the idea, it doesn't matter – that we'll try to obliterate him and his to place Uncle Aemon and his line on the throne. This way, we'll have both a Dornish queen on the throne and heirs whose loyalty would be to Dorne, first of all. More than what we could ever hope with Elia." Now, he paused. His next words came out reluctantly. "I'm afraid we didn't help either, Alynna and I. He has remembered how Alynna was supposed to wed Rhaegar before I snatched her away – and that Doran shielded us against the entire family's anger. It is now being taken as a mark for disrespect for the Iron Throne."

There was no use in reminding him that it _had_ been just that, love or not. And he was right. Rhaegar had wed Elia, right? She had given him a healthy heir reasonably soon after the marriage. Why stir the past now, nine years later?

Because of madness.

"There is this rumour being fanned," Errol finally spoke out. "That the child is not really Aunt Aelinor's. That at this age and having not had a child in more than ten years, it is only an attempt to create the illusion of a stable succession for our vile plans."

That sounded horrifyingly plausible. After all, one of the reasons that gathered Aegon the Unlikely the almost universal support that he needed had been his almost grown sons. And Aelinor was indeed quite old for giving birth.

No one was too surprised. That was how politics worked. But Shanai's eyes welled up anyway. She would have given everything to be in Aelinor's place, abounding rumours and all, for a living child. The thought that even a woman this old was able to give birth but she was not was torturous. Ashara wanted to touch her hand but Shanai was too proud to accept such a thing – it would only humiliate her. Unless it came from Arel, maybe, but he didn't do it.

"The war will reach Dorne," Ashara finally said. "No matter whether we want it."

Where was Rhaegar? Where was Arthur, for the Maiden's sake? There was a war and they were not coming back?

No, not the Maiden. Pain burned in her womb, all the way through her heart. She had lost the right to pray to the Maiden. Tears stung her eyes. She fell silent.

"Looks like there won't be a storm, after all," Arel finally said and indeed, the dome above had started turning its usual shade of shimmering blue rimmed with pale white lace. But the sea was rising. Rippling waves turned to fierce mountains of water ridden by crested grey foam. Ashara shivered. What was going on? This year had been a very strange one where weather was concerned. The promised spring had not come and now this.

Errol also looked away, his expression such that once again, she wondered what he had seen. Abruptly, he rose and left. Cold settled over Starfall and from the terrace, Ashara heard various animals whining and bleating as they, too, expressed their displeasure at nature's whims.

She rose and went to her chambers to put something else on. She took a shawl for Shanai as well and headed back to give it to her. Her goodsister was fascinated with every change in the sea and would likely not wish to go back for a while. Ashara had to admit that it was indeed beautiful.

But as Ashara neared the door of the terrace, she could hear words that told her she'd better stay away. "That was a good performance," Arel was saying. "If we lose everything in the war, you can join any mummer show you want. They'll be fighting over you, in fact. I am very relieved that you won't starve."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she shot back.

"Your ridiculous ire towards Larra, that's what I'm talking about! She's newlywed. Would you please let her try and build a life for herself without embroiling her in our own conflicts?"

Ashara could see Shanai's blood pulsing up the vein on her left temple. "Isn't your mistress, or former mistress, or whatever a part of our conflicts already?"

"No, she isn't," Arel said, forcefully. "When are you going to accept that if it wasn't her, it would have been someone else? I could not live in that farce of living together that you're still enforcing at me. But you're excellent at farces, aren't you? Making all those tormented faces in front of Errol, as if you care…"

"I do! I do care!"

"Then, you're showing it in a very peculiar way, my lady," he snapped.

_No_, Ashara thought. _Not peculiar at all._ She could understand Shanai's love – and her rejection of him as well. But he couldn't. Of course he couldn't. He was a man, after all.

"First, you don't want me, then you bristle when I find someone else, then you still want me after all but not in your bed and life, actually… What do you want, Shanai? I am not your trained dog, you know!"

"I want a babe!" she cried out. "I want what every other woman has!"

"Well, we won't get one if you keep pushing me out of your bed, you know! To the best of my knowledge, it's a part of having a babe that hasn't been a part of our life in what, two years? Or was it three?"

"Why are you being so cruel!" she cried.

"And you think you aren't? Let's be clear, Shanai: I am fed up with your constant promises and your wiggling out of them. I am fed up with your attempts to turn Starfall into a tomb! And I am certainly fed up with your insistence to bring Larra into all of this. She isn't the core of our problems and she didn't seek me out. I went to her."

For a moment, they stared at each other, both pale and jaded, no one willing to wield. Behind them, the mountains of the Summer Sea kept roaring their displeasure.

"Do you love her?" Shanai finally asked.

His face softened a little. "No, Shanai, it's you that I love."

"Then why?"

"You know why."

She sighed and looked down. Then, she looked up at him. "Let's try again, Arel. I know she gave you something that you needed. But she will not do it anymore. And you still need it. I was able to fulfill this need, once. Give me a chance to do it again. Let me be your true star once again. I can do it, I know I can."

"I've heard this before."

Shanai didn't answer immediately. Ashara almost yelled in surprise at seeing the huge mass of water splashing well beyond its usual boundaries, well beyond the lines thousands of years of tides had left in the rocks on which Starfall rose. Droplets of salt water started showering like rain, splashing the terrace and reaching Ashara inside. Arel and Shanai's faces were wet in mere moments, yet neither of them moved.

"We'll see," he finally said. To Ashara, his voice sounded as casual and reluctant as before but Shanai must have heard something different because her face became radiant with joy. She reached and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.

"It'll be different this time," she promised. "You'll see. And now, let's get inside before we get all wet."

"I thought we were already," Arel muttered but he was smiling.

Shanai entered the room like a whirlwind of energy, grabbed Ashara by the hands and kissed her soundly on both cheeks. "Come on," she urged. "We have to take care of the castle in this weird weather. No doubt many of the servants are losing their heads, thinking that the ocean will carry us all away."

"I think so," Ashara replied following her out of the room, into the hall and towards the staircase.

It all happened in less than a minute: Shanai's wet shoe slipped on the freshly polished stairs that had been bared of their rugs for the day of washing and the servant maids still hadn't taken the clean ones out. Instinctively, she grasped the railing but it slid out of her damp hand; with a terrifying shriek, Lady Dayne fell all the long way to the first floor, her head hitting every step, before her husband and goodsister's widened eyes as the Summer Sea roared, spilling over all manmade barriers to its ire and bathing Dorne into the rage of an element that held no storm and no lightening, just blind rage that turned men into mere pawns of its very power.


	10. A Proposal

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed!**

Falling Stars and Bright Sunlight

_A Proposal_

"Allyria wrote to me," Ashara announced as they broke their fast – or dined, perhaps, because in the month that had passed after Shanai's funeral, Arel had been unable to go to sleep at night and did so only for a few short hours after dawn had already roused the people between the white walls of Starfall.

Arel looked up and for the first time in a very long time, there was something like interest in his eyes, albeit faint. "What does she say?" he asked.

"She wants to come back home."

"Does she?" He looked surprised. Allyria had been quite pleased to leave Starfall immediately after the funeral. "Why would that be?"

Ashara nibbled at an apple and decided that it wasn't so appealing after all. _I'm taking my cues from Arel_, she thought. Food was the last thing on her brother's mind and it showed. Always on the slender side, he was now headed to becoming frighteningly gaunt. Fortunately, his muscles weren't affected since he hadn't abandoned his daily swordplay. But that only made the change in his looks more pronounced. People were not meant to be made of skin and muscles alone.

"You know," he sighed, watching her. "I think I'm a bad influence. You should really keep to your own ways. There's no need to keep me company."

_Oh but there is._ Everyone else kept to his unspoken orders to leave him alone. If Ashara left him to his own devices, he'd end up not saying a word that was not strictly necessary for managing Starfall or putting Prince Doran's orders in action. His grief was nothing like her bouts of despair when thinking about Brandon. She had gotten better with time. He was not prone to showing his emotions but the stark, silent, unacknowledged despair tightened his grip on him every day. Determinedly, she took a bigger bite, willing him to do the same.

He didn't.

"Why would she want to come back?" he asked again.

He was such a _man_. He couldn't understand a child's sensitivities. Or perhaps he couldn't understand them because he had been forced to grow up before his time. Perhaps he had forgotten what being a child felt like.

"She'll feel better here," Ashara explained.

"Why?" he asked, perplexed. "She certainly didn't feel good last time and I cannot blame her." He paused, considering. "No," he stated flatly.

"Why?"

"Because Starfall is no place for her right now," he replied bluntly. "And I'll only upset her. I am not in the right state of mind to take care of her, Ashara, and in the past, I was the one she always relied on. It won't do her any good to see me like this. I'll only scare her and hurt her and that's the last thing I want."

Ashara inclined her head. He hadn't meant to hurt her, it was the truth and he had said it without a hint of malice but she still felt a twinge of guilt for not taking care of Allyria the way he had done. She had gladly left that to Shanai because she just hadn't been so inclined. In the interval between their mother's leaving and Arel's wedding, Allyria had been entirely entrusted to the care of her septa – and Arel. Even now, Ashara had no idea how to mother a child. But she knew that after the initial shock, Allyria needed to be home, close to Arel, no matter how unresponsive he might be to her needs. Of course, he'd never comprehend such an urge.

"Perhaps you could go there instead," he suggested. "Keep company to the Princess. The Seven know that you'll be bored out of your mind here very soon."

She wouldn't be. A year ago, yes, but not now. Too much had changed. At the end, when people came to a certain point in their life, they were each drawn to what they loved most. And to her, that was this castle, waking to the soft murmur of the sea, being gossiped about not with enmity and ill-will but the concern of people who had seen her toddling as a very small child. Seeing the cook standing guard over the sweetmeats as soon as she saw Ashara entering the kitchens. Arel was wrong. She had always liked living in Starfall. She had never stopped, just forgotten.

"I still think we should have her brought here," she said. "I insist."

Clearly irritated, Arel shot her a look saying, _Well, if you insist_, very caustically. A moment later, that chilling indifference to everything pounced on him again and he merely shrugged. "As you wish."

But only an hour later, things were taken out of the realm of her wishes with the arrival of Lord Toral Wyl and Errol Gargalen who brought the news that they were now officially involved in the war.

* * *

><p>"Your visit to the Water Gardens will be postponed," Arel said. "I'm sorry."<p>

"It's fine," she replied, trying not to show the slight hurt that he still thought her flippant enough to change her mind and rush to the excitement of the Water Gardens and Sunspear. "I'll have many chances when this stupid rebellion is crushed."

He sighed. It was a good thing that Dorne had been prepared for this possibility. And still, even the thought of the horrors that were about to come could not drag him out of the abyss he was in. He could not bring himself to care about politics and countless innocent lives that had already been claimed and would be claimed in the following months. The prospect of the rebellion failing left him just as unmoved as the prospect of it succeeding.

"When are you leaving?" Ashara asked, looking from her brother to the newcomers.

"In a week," Lord Wyl said. "I believe you'll be ready by then, Arel?"

Arel silently nodded. "Thanks for the warning," he said and Ashara wondered what Toral Wyl was doing here. Errol was easy to explain – he was constantly moving all over with different tasks. But Lord Wyl? His lands were nowhere near.

Errol rose with swiftness that made her raise her eyebrows. He looked like a man who wanted to remove himself as soon as possible and that took her by surprise. He had never been the one to shy from hardships and no matter how much strain Arel was under, their friendship had always overcome any unfortunate circumstances. Lord Wyl looked at him, surprised but Errol shook his head and mouthed, "Not now. I'll do it later." Curious, Ashara stared at them. Arel had not even noticed the exchange.

Toral Wyl coughed. "May have a word with you, my lady?" he asked. "Somewhere private if you'd like."

Surprises had no end. What on earth did the man have to tell her? She had barely seen him after he had left the Water Gardens – when she had just come. She didn't know him at all. All she knew was that he made her feel disconcerted because he knew. The rest of Dorne might speculate but he was the only one who _knew_. She didn't want to talk to him but she saw no way out. It would be incredibly rude if she refused.

"Yes, of course," she replied and as they walked down the hall, a terrible foreboding made her belly clench. Surely he wouldn't try to make her his mistress now that he was well aware of her morals? If that was his wish, he wouldn't have asked her for a word in front of Arel.

The Gallery of Vaults was overlooking the Torentine. Ashara leaned against the red railing and stared at the rushing mass of water he had rescued her from. To her relief, he did not try to touch her hand pretending that it was a chance as he leaned on his elbows next to her.

"You said you wanted a word with me," the young woman finally said.

"So I did." He paused. Ashara glanced at him and saw that he was quite pale, a muscle twitching in his jaw. Finally, he turned to look at her profile. "I want to wed you at my return," he announced all of a sudden.

She blinked. Her time at King's Landing where each change in her feature could be caught by those who paid to have her watched in the hopes of destroying Elia and Dorne's influence had left her with self-possession of iron but this was so stunning that she lost all control.

"You do?" she squeaked.

He nodded. "Yes," he confirmed without looking at her.

"And why?" she demanded, gathering her wits about her. If there was something that she could say half-asleep, it was when a man was instantly smitten with her. This one wasn't. Why would he want a soiled woman, someone who was whispered about all around the Seven Kingdoms – and whom he wasn't smitten with?

He flushed. "I think you'll be… very suitable, my lady," he said haltingly.

Ah! Here it was. There was the thing that made Ashara suitable – well, one of a few but the most important one. She knew that for many years, Toral Wyl's marriage had been childless and when Lady Wyl had finally gotten with child, she had died giving birth, along with the babe. An outbreak of a disease in the region many years ago had left Lord Wyl his parents' only child, after the death of four siblings. He needed a new wife to make sure that his line would survive. And he had seen firsthand the start of Ashara's miscarriage that showed that she could conceive. Besides, unlike poor Shanai, she had lost her babe only under the strain of the harshest elements, being dragged by the river. There was no reason to think that she could not carry a child to the end.

A flock of grey birds on the shore rose with shrill squawks. Sunlight dappled the wild water with gleaming spots as if the river were performing a savage dance of victory. Ashara drew a deep breath, trying to clear her head, push away the offense that flooded her like the Torentine had carried her in that fateful day. At the end, it had come to this. She was now a desired bride not for her famed beauty, not for her impeccable lineage or influence with Elia. She was being singled out because of her childbearing ability, a prospect that had always disgusted and demeaned her with its probability, one that she had tried to run away from. If she accepted, she might spend her life in the shadow of spousal mistrust and being spied on because well, she had proven herself careless with her favourts, hadn't she?

But had she not placed herself in that position? Was that brief thing with Brandon Stark really worth it? Not for the world! She supposed she should be grateful that this was Dorne and with time, she might – just might – benefit from the benevolent hand of forgetfulness and new saucy rumours replacing the ones of her past behavior.

And then, a sudden hollowness in her chest provided her with the answer that a moment ago had looked so distant and impossible. It was this simple, at the end. For all that she had thought herself unique, in her heart of hearts she was like any other woman. She wanted a home of her own. A child to hold and love – even if she had no idea how to do the harder parts!

She could be Lady Wyl and not the embarrassment Arel had to hunt hard to find a husband to. She could be a woman of influence and wealth. And still – would it be worth it if her husband distrusted her and held her past transgression against her?

The man seemed to feel her doubts because he caught her eye once again. "My lady," he said, his voice gentler this time. "I really want to wed you. I'll always be good to you."

"I'll keep you to that."

The answer came straight from Ashara's drumming heart before she even realized that it had left her lips, her decision made long before it reached her mind. She stared at him, at his light-brown hair and freckled face, the blue eyes that held no deceit, and felt how the ball of apprehension in her chest slowly started fading. A new chance, he was offering her. Not a romance like one from the songs that made so many girls dream for something that might never come to pass. Not passion like the one she had already experienced with a wild wolf. But something solid. Something that might look wane and measly in comparison but had the chance to last. Really, could she hope for anything better? _Why not_, she thought. _With time, we might achieve something more. But for now, it'll be a start._

"You'll have to talk to my brother," she said, smiling a little. "I'll talk to him as well."

He took her hand and kissed it, not too hasty to release it. When he did, Ashara felt a small inexplicable twinge of loss as the realization came upon her that with the war reaching them, she stood to lose more than she had only an hour ago.


	11. Ashford - Part One

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed.**

Falling Stars and Bright Sunlight

_Ashford – Part One_

The town held its breath like a deer still feeling the hounds close in hot pursuit. The gates were closed and not a single face was peeking over the walls, as if the men and women were scared that they would thus attract the unwanted notice of one of the armies, be it the victorious or the defeated one. If there was such a thing as victory or defeat in this battle. Yes, the royalist forces had won, technically, but the battle had been a very inconclusive affair and…

"Who won?" Alynna wondered in a low voice and Alric could not fault her for her confusion. As smart as politically savvy as she was, she was no battle tactician and he didn't know what answer to give her.

"The question you should be asking is, _who lost_?" her father said grimly. "We did. Damn you, Aerys!"

For a moment, Alynna closed her eyes and her step slowed down. Alric reached out and took her hand. She had been the subject of anger that wouldn't fade from both her father and husband. They were both furious at what they perceived as dangerous recklessness on her side. She should have stayed in Braavos until the rebellion was dealt with and not trying to come back. The argument that should she have stayed a few months longer, she might not have been able to travel back because while in Braavos, she had found out that she was with child, did not move them. They saw it as yet another reason for her not to risk the rage of the sea or the rebels. She had encountered the first one and it had sank her ship right there, on a Stormlands coast. Fortunately, she had been able to reach their army, where her menfolk had greeted her with horror. And now, she was in the hands of the rebels. Like all of them.

The sun was setting down over the aftermath of a battle that had been bloody and abhorrent, yet a parody of a real battle and real leadership, on their part at least. If he could see Mace Tyrell at this moment, Alric would have lunged straight for his throat, not even bothering with a sword or lance. It was a good thing that finally, the dumb Tyrell had let Tarly take the initiative. Finally. Almost too late. Certainly too late for Alric and the rest of those who were now captured thanks to the stupid flower's inept commanding.

The river ran grey, almost black in the falling dusk, its surface covered with dirty white foam that terribly looked like spittle. Fetid breath of dead fish and rotting trees floating around assaulted them. Alynna scrambled for the railing and a man-at-arms ran to bar her way, at which she looked at him; alarmed, he realized what her expression meant and tried to get out of her way but it was too late: she vomited all over him and herself. With a roar of anger, he raised a hand at her form that was now kneeling on the bottom of the boat, thrown there by the combined force of the retching and the shaking of the boat, but suddenly Errol was there, twisting the offending arm with such force that he reeled backward. _Damn you_, Alric thought, _with all the blood and gore you're covered with, a little vomit doesn't make such a big difference. _

They were now going past silent rows of men making their campfires for the night. The river had put an insuperable distance between them and the victorious men of the Reach. The highborn Dornishmen were not the only ones captured, despite their side having won.

The rebels guarding their group were respectful but others who they passed on their way to the commander's tent were not. Jeers and insults filled the air; with clenched teeth, Alric took note that they did not shout "monsters" and "dogs of the Mad King", but the old insults Dornishmen and the Stormlanders had been exchanging for centuries, and he wondered whether Jon Arryn knew what he might have done. This senseless war could split the realm in seven or worse, in twenty.

The jeers soon took a certain aim and Alric blood ran as hot as it had last been when he had heard of Rhaegar disappearing with the she-wolf. Next to him, Alynna was looking down, focused on moving her feet left in front of right and then left again. Her belly stuck out, her state obvious. Men whistled and shouted insults and offers at her and Alric knew they were taking her for a camp follower. He prayed that she didn't know it as well.

Silently, Errol fell in step next to him, pushed him slightly away and took Alynna's hand in his uncle's place. She squeezed it tight. The sight made Alric smile but the tug of his lips was not quite complete when he saw the men coming from their left. The smile died.

"Seven hells," his brother spat. "I hoped they had gotten away."

So had Alric. But here they were, captives just like them: his son Elvar Sand, Carral's Maurel, Torral Wyl and damn him if the one whose face was almost hidden by the current position of the group wasn't Arel. A moment later, his eyes met his son's and on the unscarred part of Elvar's face, he saw reflected his own displeasure.

Maurel was the first one who hastened his steps, to the ire of one of their guards. The wind blew a few sharp words exchanged but the two groups were allowed to get together.

Blood was streaming down the newcomers' faces, trickled between the parts of their armour. Alric had stopped feeling his own wounds some time ago but the sight of theirs pained him. His eyes went to the meadow awaiting them on the other shore, with the enemy's tent. Robert Baratheon's. Rhaelle's grandson's.

It made asinine sense. This was the place where Alric's grandfather had killed his own brother. Alric stared right ahead and could almost touch the shroud of remorse and doom that had always enveloped Maekar Targaryen, since Alric's earliest memories. A fitting place, indeed. A cursed place. Fear coursed through him, not for him but for those around him. His son, his brother, his nephews and niece, his foster son. So many of those he loved.

They entered the leader's tent under the light of torches. Under other circumstances, Alric might have approved of the spare furnishings – no soft furs for sleeping, no cushioned chairs, no heavy hangings against the walls, not a myriad of servants waiting for their lord's wishes and orders. It was a military tent – a few folding tables covered with maps and strategic plans, a few chairs, lots of torches. No beeswax candles for Robert Baratheon. This one was a warrior. Briefly, Alric wondered what the man would _do_ at the end of the war. Could he live without battles to fight in?

Five men waited for them near the fireplace. Alric had made out the Lord of Storm's End immediately but the rest of them, he didn't know. And he didn't have the time to start guessing because as soon as Robert's eyes fell on them, a savage roar emerged from his throat and he lunged at them, pushing his way with his sheer weight and the advantage of surprise.

"You!"

Alynna screamed.

After a moment of stunned shock, Errol pushed him away, narrowly avoiding having his head smashed between the hammers that Robert Baratheon called fists. A moment later, his right hand shot forward and twisted Robert's wrist in a way that made the other man gasp with pain. It was not a matter of strength at all. Alric could already say that in sheer physical might, Robert was vastly superior to Errol. But his nephew had had the advantage of having learned such tactics from one of Alric's own sons, whose arm and shoulder had been severely damaged by birth. Unable to use them as intended, weaker than other boys, Ivorr had developed some manouevres that let him cause pain without needing too much strength. Errol had been the recipient of such twists tens of times and he had learned how to give them.

He pushed Robert back and raised his own fists. "What's the matter with you?" he roared. "Are you mad?"

Robert was shaking his hand right and left to restore it somewhat. Which did not stop him from going at Errol again like a bull. "Mad?" he roared back. "_You_ dare speak of madness?"

There was something very wrong about this but before Alric could work it out, Errol had blocked another blow. He, however, could not prevent the mighty push that sent him on the floor. Still, he managed to grab Robert's leg and trip him over.

Shouts erupted around the tent. Hands reached down to separate the two rivals. Voices rose in vain attempt to explain as the two men rolled over, pounding each other.

Finally, they were both dragged back on their feet, hands still restraining them wisely. Robert raised a hand to his bruised throat. Errol sprouted faint blue shades under both eyes. Alric supposed that in the morning, the right one would be completely shut. Blood trickled down his cheekbone and he still looked utterly confused at what had just transpired.

Robert stared at him and slowly shook his head. "Let go off me," he said, rather calmly, given the circumstances. "I won't touch him, I swear," he added impatiently.

The two men holding him exchanged a look and heeded him, although they didn't let him out of their sight. Robert went to Errol, still staring at him intently. Then, he whistled in disbelief, looking completely sure of his conclusion. "You aren't Rhaegar," he stated.

"Of course I am not!" Errol snapped. "Would it have been so hard to _ask_?"

He paused, considering. "You thought I was Rhaegar Targaryen?" he asked, just to make sure, and Robert nodded. Errol laughed harshly. "Well, that's rich!" he said, his eyes fierce. "You thought we Dornish would have given this man the command of a mule, let alone contingent of men?"

"Who are you?" Robert asked.

"My name is Errol Gargalen."

The hatred on Robert's face returned in full force. "Another dragon monster," he snarled.

"Says Princess Rhaelle's grandson," Errol shot back.

"Give them time," Alric heard someone say. One of the Stormlanders. "The Dornish love Aerys no better than us. They'll reach an understanding."

With a horrifying foresight that made him groan aloud as it hit him worse than the warhammer resting near Robert's bedside could have done, Alric realized that this wasn't the truth. With Elia and so many of their people hostages in King's Landing, Errol would never give Robert his allegiance. And in the narrowed eyes of the Stormlord Alric read the deadly intent meant for someone who was in hiding somewhere, so hateful, so vindictive that it could not help but unleash herself onto the nearest victim available.


	12. Ashfort - Part Two

**Thanks, VVSINGOFTHECROSS, for reviewing!**

Falling Stars and Bright Sunlight

_Ashford – Part Two  
><em>

The only light in the tent came from the fireplace and the woods were too young to burn easily. To compensate, the old branches thrown in there gave so much smoke that they had to keep the tent open, so Alynna would not start suffocating. One of the not so nice effects of being with child was that all her senses worked threefold as hard, including her sense of smell! Better cold than breathing this but oh the icy wind was so unpleasant! Alynna shivered and drew her cloak tightly around her. If this was spring, she'd really hate to see winter in the Stormlands! Her fingers were pale and stiff, although that was partly another side of being with child, to her, at least. And the fact that she had recently arrived from the hotter Essos was not much help.

Of course, fear was also a factor…

Errol came near, took his cloak off and wrapped it around her, over hers. For a moment, his fingers held hers before releasing them and she leaned over her brother once again.

"I'll sew you if I can find some threads," she promised, trying to stay calm at the sight of the gaping slashes along his arm and leg. It was strange, how she had not even swallowed as she had been cleaning the wounds, though gaping holes of blood drying and trickling yet they had been but now she was ready to break down. "They won't close on themselves."

Alor frowned. "Don't forget to make them beautiful," he said. "I don't want ladies to run away as soon as we get to the more interesting parts. And I still intend to use the pools in the Water Gardens. It won't do for me to be…" He paused and tried to find the word that applied. "So askew," he finally said, and Alynna tried to laugh, thankful for his attempt to cheer her up. Not that it was very likely that she'd be given threads or needles. They were given just some rough blankets – two less than needed. And a jug of water – a single one. No cups attached.

"Lie down," she said and pushed him to the hard earth before moving to the next one. Her cousin Elvar. Fortunately, he had gotten away without any serious cuts. At least, Alynna saw no considerable amount of blood. But she disliked the way his good eye seemed to become more and more glazed as his bad one looked as if it was about to burst out of his face.

"A blow on your head?" she asked.

He didn't nod – probably didn't dare – but confirmed, "Either he was worse than he'd like, or my helmet was better than I could ever hope."

She thought that words sounded more slurred than usual and looked at her uncle for confirmation. The concern in Alric's eyes reflected her own.

There was nothing that she could do for Elvar now, except for not letting him to go sleep – but everyone in the tent knew that as well and they wouldn't let him. She moved to the next man in line. Arel Dayne. She dabbed the rag she was holding in the bucket of water they had been given and saw the water turn red. Then, she drew it across his bloodied neck and frowned as she touched his shoulder. He was holding his arm in a stiff way, his face pale and drawn. "A dislocated shoulder?" she asked.

"Yes," he confirmed.

"My father will draw it back," she said. "Let me see to the wounds first."

All of a sudden, she was all goose-flesh. She removed her hands from Lord Dayne's wound and turned back. Errol was staring at her without an ounce of good feeling. His purple eyes were hard and angry. Alynna was sure it was not a trick of the torchlight. But a moment later, he came near and asked in his normal voice, "May I?"

"Yes," Arel said guardedly. Like Alynna, he had noticed his friend's odd behavior and didn't know what to make of it. But Errol grabbed his arm, pulled it forward and returned it, placing it where should be. Then, he drew a hand across Arel's shoulder to make sure that everything was as it should be. His movements were soft and caring as always.

"What in the seven hells happened?" he asked. "This is a very unusual injury."

Arel shrugged and seemed to relish his ability to do so. "I fell upon a bear of a man with a monstrosity of a warhammer," he only said.

"I saw you," Alric said. "By the Seven, I thought you were a goner. I couldn't believe my eyes when you did manage to find a weak spot… and with your shoulder like this, no less. I might have spared a moment to admire your quick thinking, your prowess and yes, your refusal to give up."

Arel smiled faintly. "You forgot to mention my fostering with you," he said.

"All of that learned from me, of course," Alric finished and everyone laughed.

And then, echoing steps made all of them look at the entrance.

"Come with me," the man said curtly. One of the Stormlords Alynna had seen in Baratheon's tent. The quality of his attire and weapons betrayed high rank but as far as she could say, he was not Robert Baratheon's brother. He looked nothing like him. "All of you," he added when Alor Gargalen didn't even try to rise.

"My son cannot walk," Carral said sharply. "If you would not treat your captives' wounds, would you please let them have some rest, at least?"

The man muttered something about those arrogant Dornishmen but clearly decided that forcing a wounded man to walk when he was unable to was not something he would do.

"I have no instructions about the boy," he finally said.

A pair of blue eyes shot him a look of pure indignation. "I go where they go," Blaze Gargalen declared, and Alric sighed.

"I'd rather that you wouldn't," he said. "But you've seen two and ten namedays already. I'm afraid you won't be a child forever. Come on."

Errol looked ready to object but then clearly remembered that his own treatment at this age was no different than the one his youngest brother was being offered, so he didn't say a word. About Alynna, he knew better than try to keep her here. She would find a way to squeeze herself into the centre of things or get hurt trying to. She made it hard for him to do his main duty as her husband, namely protecting her! He took her hand and led her out of the tent.

To their relief, at this time of night there were very few people awake to watch their passing. Alynna got no more than a few stares and leers. She breathed deeply and commanded herself to stop shivering. By the Warrior, she would not go to Baratheon shaking. He'd think he'd intimidated her!

The road between the tents was a very long one, although it was a different length than the one on their way earlier. Before, she had only wanted to reach wherever the Stormlanders were taking them, so people would stop gawking, shouting, and leering. Now, she had all the time in the world to think of the terrible things that might happen to them. Not too far away, the river glinted like a line of carefully polished silver.

There were only five men in the tent beside Baratheon himself. His fire burned better but Alynna didn't step to the fireplace.

To her surprise, the lord of Storm's End gave his first look to her, of the entire group. It was a blue, thoughtful stare, betraying more intelligence than the man had demonstrated before. He motioned at her to come forward.

"You aren't Elia Martell," he said and Alynna almost rolled her eyes despite the gravity of the situation. What had he been thinking, that Rhaegar had brought his wife along while fighting in the war that would not have started if he had not taken his little Northern fool? "I remember you," he went on. "From Sunspear. You were her cousin. Her friend."

"I am," Alynna said.

"You look like her," he said. "But you're more beautiful, I'll let you know."

"You forgot _my lady_," Errol put in, his voice clearly showing that he was not about to tolerate Baratheon's rudeness.

"My lady," Robert agreed. "Take a seat."

Suspiciously, Alynna did. She would like to stay afoot, for it made her look more defiant but the belly weighed her down and her feet were so swollen that she had given up on her slippers long ago. She would rather not look at herself right now.

"You could have been queen," Robert Baratheon said. "That was what my father said. _"The stupid girl could have been queen." _Why didn't you wed Rhaegar?"

"Because I chose a better man," Alynna replied. "As the events of the last few months showed."

He laughed, clearly amused by the idea that a Dornish lord was considered better than the heir of the Iron Throne. "Perhaps you did," he said. Then, amusement disappeared from his face and he gave the others a stern look. When this look fell on _the better man_, Alynna bristled with fear and anger. It was clear that he didn't see what was this much better. It was basically the same to him – silver hair, slight build, huge indigo eyes and fine features… Alynna knew the difference underneath but he was not about to look for it. He turned to Alric instead, as if Errol didn't merit his attention. "I wouldn't have thought I'd find you here," he said, addressing Alric. "Rhaegar Targaryen wronged your own daughter worse than me."

Alric sighed. "I don't need you to tell me this," he said. "We aren't here out of love for my goodson, you can trust me on this."

"Then why are you here?" Robert demanded. The booming voice, the power exuding from him, the feeling of an innocent who did not understand! Alynna defied them, denied their existence, although a part of her wanted to… throw herself at his feet and start making excuses. Ridiculous! Excuses? To him? Everyone knew that he repeatedly declared to be fighting for his abducted betrothed. Alynna happened to know that he didn't abstain from female company in the meantime. As to the poor abducted Lyanna? Everyone who had been at Harrenhall would know that the girl had probably thrown herself in Rhaegar's arms as soon as he appeared. If Errol ever did such a thing to her, Alynna would simply spit upon him and walk away, even if it broke her heart. What a pity that Elia couldn't even do this with Rhaegar!

"Because Aerys is quite vocal in explaining that my daughter and grandchildren's wellbeing is tied to our support," Alric said plainly. "He's twisting out arms."

"I don't believe you," Robert stated plainly. "Everyone knows what Dornish people are like. You're probably ready to take everything Rhaegar gives you just for the chance of getting your blood on the throne. You don't care about him hurting innocents all along the way. To you, abducting someone's betrothed is nothing."

The level of his self-delusion was astonishing. No one who had been at Harrenhall could ever think that the Stark girl had been abducted. But it wouldn't be wise to say that right now, so no one did.

"I will not suffer any dragon blood in Westeros anymore," Robert declared. "Corruption always shows… You'll be an example of what happens to those who choose to throw in their lot with the dragons. You'll meet your end tomorrow morning."

The world spun around Alynna. Only when Errol was suddenly there, holding her, did she realize that she had been sliding from her chair. He gripped her hands. "Do not faint," he whispered urgently. Then, he looked at Robert. His face was collected but the anxiety in his eyes was plain.

"I knew what I was doing when I took arms against you," Errol said. "But my wife never did so. My brother is still a boy, years away from his knighting. I beg you, have mercy and treat them like the innocents they are."

Alynna didn't hear the rest of it because all of a sudden, darkness came.

* * *

><p>"Are you well?"<p>

The expression on her father's face shook her to the core. She had never seen him so scared. Even now, with death looming so near, his fear for her and her babe swallowed any fear he might have felt for himself.

Before looking around, she knew she was back in the tent with the smelling fire. And then, Errol's face appeared in front of her, his concern mixing with anger. "I told you not to faint but you never listen, Alynna. You never did and you won't start right now, ah? By the Mother, how are you?"

Carral stepped aside and Errol took his place at Alynna's side, placing his hand on her belly. She rested her own palm over it and to their joint relief, the babe kicked obediently.

A faint smile touched Errol's face. "He'll be as headstrong as his mother… and as considerate as her. Good boy."

Alynna tried to smile. "Do you know it'll be a boy?" she asked.

Errol nodded. "He won't touch you," he said. "Neither you nor Blaze. He sent his own maester to attend you. I knew you'd give birth to a living babe but still, I am so relieved…"

He ran out of words and only spread his fingers wider, as if he wanted to better connect with the life pulsing under Alynna's skin. The life he'd never see be born.

"Who?" Alynna asked in a sharp whisper.

He looked away. "Uncle Carral," he whispered. "Alor and Maurel."

And him, of course. There was no need to say it. He was the most dragonlike of all the dragon-bloodied men in the tent.

Their son started moving in her womb again, as if he, too, wanted to know the one he'd lose.

Errol. Her father. Her brothers. Alynna screamed with such anguish that a man-at-arms poked his head in to check what was going on. Someone sent him away.

In a moment, Errol had her upright and into his arms. Her scream slowly faded into his chest. She raised a tear-stained face. "You knew."

He nodded. "For months, I've known that I wouldn't see another nameday. But I didn't see…" His voice caught. "I am so sorry for the rest of them."

Alynna's mind was a whirlwind of emotions – bleak despair, mad hope, the feverish desire to wake up safe and sane in her bed at Salt Shore. "He won't follow through," she said. "It was all a sick jest… I'll beg him and he'll listen. I think he likes to feel like a gallant knight."

Errol sighed. "Alynna, his decision is a calculated one. He won't touch Uncle Alric or Elvar. Or Arel and Torral. It's just us – those who are both with dragon blood and not too important to Doran. We'll be made an example out of. Don't cry," he added hurriedly. "Your tears will make him sad and he'll be born mournful."

_How else_, Alynna thought and tried to smile for his sake. "It's just the smoke," she whispered and saw the grateful flash of his eyes. Was this the last time she saw this indigo shade? They have been the stars of her life since before she could remember… She swallowed and nodded that she was fine.

"Now, come here," Errol said and his eyes took everyone in the tent in. "Everyone. I have something important to tell you."

Surprised, everyone gathered around him. He looked grim and resolved. "Ever since Harrenhall, I've been having those dreams," he said. "Dreams of death and destruction. Recently, they shaped out my own forthcoming death in their depths and I can do nothing. It's always there. But there is something that can be changed. Those of you who survive… you _must_ go back to Dorne and find Naeryn. She's been troubled by some visions as well and she felt as helpless as me. But now, I can see everything so clearly. I wonder if it's the impending death that clears my sight. It's very important. Listen to me and remember because I won't be here to repeat it."

Alynna bit back a sob.

"Rhaegar Targaryen will finally emerge and he'll meet Baratheon in battle. A sword against the warhammer we saw in action. He'll perish there."

She turned her head to look at him in wonder and almost stopped listening to him right there. What did it matter which of the two men would kill the other? Her life would be over anyway, the light of it gone forever. Her life, her everything would die tomorrow. Once, she would have thought that nothing could have increased the pain of this but the thought of her father and brothers joining him in death was enough to crush her once again. Rhaegar's death would not move her at all…

"I won't mourn him too long," Elvar muttered, and Errol sighed impatiently.

"But you'll mourn Elia for sure. Because she'll die in the most horrific way possible, along with the children, if Rhaegar falls."

Alric gasped. All the colour drained from his face.

"Dorne will find itself isolated. The Targaryens will lose the throne," Errol went on mercilessly. "And the realm will have a negligent king and a bitch queen, as beautiful as she might be. Unless we act. Because that's one of the things I see _changing_."

His voice was a mere thread of whisper, yet everyone was listening so intently that not a sound was lost.

"All those years ago, when the court came to Sunspear… Do you remember that young Robert lost his favourite gauntlet?"

Maurel nodded. "He made such a fuss of it, accusing Dornishmen to be thieves…"

Errol waved an impatient hand as he held Alynna close with his other arm. "I _did_ steal it. I didn't know why. It just felt like the right thing to do. I kept it at the bottom of my chest with childhood treasures and moved it with every new chest I got. It has the Baratheon colours and it cannot be mistaken. He was wearing it; he shaded his eyes with it once. Tell that to Naeryn. Perhaps she'll be able to place a curse upon him, weaken him, so he'll lose."

A heavy silence followed. It was the first time the truth about Naeryn's powers and lessons was being discussed openly even within the family, let alone people who were not a part of it.

"I'll do it," Elvar finally said. "If I have the chance, I'll escape and let Naeryn know. I want him defeated and dead," he whispered fiercely. "For all of you."

"I'd like to see Rhaegar take his punishment as well," Carral said. "But I guess it won't matter for me either way."

Errol smiled slightly. "Don't be so fast in your judgment, Uncle. If Robert Baratheon is punished with death, Rhaegar Targaryen will be punished with life."

Alynna didn't know if he was saying it because he knew it or because he hoped it to be so. And she didn't care. One of the two men would walk away with his life while those four men that she loved would lose theirs.

"What's this?" Errol asked, drawing a hand under her eyes. "Tears? Alynna."

"No," she whispered through her tight throat. "I told you, it's just the smoke."


	13. Ashford - Part Three

**Many thanks, VVSINGOFTHECROSS, for being such a great reviewer!**

Falling Stars and Bright Sunlight

_Ashford – Part Three_

Alynna felt that she could no longer keep her eyes open. Not because she was sleepy – in fact, she was more alert than ever before. Because of the tears that hadn't stopped falling since before the sun had sunken behind the horizon; now, it was rearing its fierce head from the east, carrying the hope of life and renewal for those who could feel hope. Alynna wasn't one of them and when her eyes, swollen with weeping, registered the brightness coming from the cracks between the tents, fear pierced her more sharply. Once again, she forced her eyelids to open more widely, the movement causing her pain. But she could not get enough of the faces of those she'd lose now. Her hand clutched her husband's once again.

The rest of them had also noticed the ominous brightening of the sky. Carral went over to the fireplace and took the surcoat that was hanging nearby. "Almost dry," he said, bringing it to Errol.

_The blood won't show this much,_ everyone thought, for the garment was crimson. Alynna had washed it carefully because Errol disliked the idea of going to his death in something dirty and reeking of battle and blood. Now, he put it on and looked at Alynna. "I knew I could always rely on you," he said softly. "For anything, be it turn down a crown for me or outdo a washerwoman when needed."

She couldn't force an answer through her constricted throat; giving her time to compose herself, Errol turned to the others. "You can have the first pick of my things," he told his little brother. "Take anything you want, except for the Valyrian dagger if by any chance you can have it recovered from Baratheon. Gillerd has wanted it since the day I bought her, so it should go to him. But you can have whatever else you want."

The boy nodded, his blue eyes cast down. He looked so much like their mother that Errol had the feeling that he was having one of his dreams again, the vision of the grief Lady Isanne would feel when she came to knew.

Silence wrapped the tent. Even the small hope Errol had given them could not overcome the horror of what was to come. He looked at Arel. "The second pick is yours," he said. "You'll have what I value above all else soon enough, so I claim it fair."

Arel blinked at him. "What?"

Errol nodded. "You'll know soon enough. It won't be this bad, you'll see…"

"At this moment," Arel said softly, "nothing can look good."

"Life is long, Arel," his friend replied, smiling faintly. "For you, at least."

"They'll come soon," Carral said. "By the Seven, it isn't fair! All three of you… so young…"

By chance, his younger son and Errol were standing where firelight bathed them fully. One of them was olive-skinned, the other just kissed by the sun; one was dark-haired, the other as fair as the moon, both so young and handsome. Why had been this handsomeness given to them when it would soon go into the earth?

The sight of her father's torment, his disinterest in his own death in the face of theirs only brought Alynna's sobs back. Over her sore throat, in her hoarse voice they were the ugliest thing someone had ever heard.

Errol held her close. "Alynna, I…"

"It isn't true," she whispered and then screamed, "It isn't true! I don't want it to be true!"

At the last word, her voice gave up. She could no longer force a sound out, just move her lips.

Errol drew back to look her in the eye. "My love," he said. "You don't even know how happy you've made me. All those years. Without my sweet woman of the sun my life would have been so empty."

She still couldn't utter a sound but he didn't mind. He knew.

A noise coming near made then all look up.

For a brief moment of weakness Carral grasped his brother's hand. "You will come, won't you?"

"I wouldn't be anywhere else," Alric replied.

No one felt the need to talk. They had already said everything in this long, long night. Errol looked at Alynna and Blaise and made one last attempt. "I'd like for the two of you to stay here…"

"No," Blaise said, although his chin was shaking so hard that the word was barely audible. Alynna only shook her head.

Errol sighed and went to the boy to give him one last embrace. Blaise had been weeping all night long but he now seemed more controlled. Errol stared at him eye to eye. "Take care of them," he said.

Blaise looked confused. "What? I…"

"Mother and Father. With me gone, you'll be the only one they'll have left. Take care of them."

This new burden seemed to shrink the boy quite physically. He suddenly looked smaller but be nodded manfully. "I will," he promised.

Errol smiled. "I'm sure you will," he said and came back to Alynna, placing one hand on her back and the other on her belly. Memories came in waves, crushing him with weight he welcomed. His childhood in Salt Shore and the Water Gardens, his parents, his relatives who he was happy enough to count among his nearest and dearest friends, the morning he had first met Arel Dayne, the day he had wed Alynna, the same day he had realized that he was in love with her … His children who were sleeping innocently in the castle near the shore – and the one he was feeling under his fingers now. Always, always Alynna and the children.

"Treat them well," he suddenly said. "Arel? My children. Treat them well, as you always did me."

Arel looked stunned that such a question needed to be asked at all. He wasn't cursed with Errol's thrice damned visions! He had no idea what the future had in store for him.

The slash of the tent opened. Alynna tried to scream and couldn't. Suddenly, the room was filled with morose men.

"Are you ready?" someone asked.

"We are," Maurel replied and then hesitated as he watched his brother struggling to his feet, only to fall back immediately. "Let me help you."

"There's no need," Carral said. "I'll carry him."

"I'm too heavy, Father."

A pale shadow of a smile played across Carral's lips. "You were never too heavy for me," he said in a last effort to deny the horror inflicted upon them. "It's just this certainty in your own importance that you have in abundance. Come here."

Long before, they have found out that Alor's life was flowing out of him through thirteen wounds; when his father lifted him, new blood spattered both his and Carral's clothing. Alynna's lips moved again in a new soundless scream.

"Can you walk?" Errol asked.

She couldn't. For the life of hers she couldn't support herself. But if she stayed here, she'd lose those final moments with her, so to his disappointment she nodded and made a few lurching steps, like she had suddenly been reverted to a child who was still learning her first steps.

Maurel left first and held the movable piece of tent, so his father could go through without trouble. Carral followed without any sign that he felt the weight of the body in his arms. Errol was the last of the doomed men to leave and as Alynna trudged out behind him, for a moment she saw the four of them silhouetted in the light of the bleeding sunrise. Her heart missed a beat and in her womb, the child kicked wildly, as if he, too, knew what he was losing.

Despite the early hour and the morning chill, there was a big enough crowd gathered around the oak trunk. Executions always made an enjoyable sight. The Stranger emerged from his underground abode to join them; once again, Alric felt a familiar presence, the touch of a familiar hand. Was this the continuation of the curse inflicted upon Maekar Targaryen for the killing of his brother? His own descendants, fell by the will of another of those?

"Dornish curs! The snakes will have their due!"

They hadn't expected anything different; what surprised them was how little it all mattered. What weight did grievances and old hatreds carried when death was staring one in the face? Maurel was concerned only with the fact that with the cold that he was not accustomed to, his shaking would be taken to be due to fear, so he focused on controlling his body. Errol leaned over to support Alynna. In the harsh light, she looked aged with twenty years, her beauty lost without a trace. But while the day before those same men had jeered and ogled her in her full bloom, her suffering seemed to move and silence them; when Carral headed for the trunk of death with Alor who already looked to be in the Stranger's realm but still struggling to stir this and that way, so the burden on his father would be as small as possible, there were gasps of horror all around.

Robert Baratheon scowled. "What's this?" he asked, looking at Alor suspiciously.

"Can't you see?" Carral snapped.

Robert looked strangely torn. "I didn't know he was in such a bad state. He already looks done for."

"Don't ascribe your men too much merit." Alor's voice was faint but carried well in the morning silence.

To everyone's surprise, Robert came over and frowned, looking Alor over. "You'll die soon," he concluded.

Alor snorted. "Stay close for the event," he said. "Please stay close so I can spit in your face from the trunk."

Robert drew back. "You don't lack for boldness," he stated, somewhat surprised. "I believe you'll actually have spittle in your mouth till your last breath…"

He paused and then made up his mind. "Take him back to the tent," he ordered his men. "And summon my maester. He's dying anyway so I see no use in executing him. And he's brave. He deserves a better end than dying like a dog… He'll die like the man he is."

The relief overcoming Carral was overwhelming. The closeness of death had not managed to unman him but the brief reprieve for Alor did. His arms were wooden when someone took Alor from them. He only leaned over and pressed his lips to his son's forehead one last time. Memories flooded him like a seastorm. He pushed them away and looked as Alor was being laid on the ground to watch. Perhaps he had asked? Carral didn't know but he knew he would have never forgiven himself if their roles were reversed and he had left, so he wasn't surprised.

Last words, last embraces… "I want to go first," Carral said. The thought of living without his son and Errol, no matter how briefly, was unbearable. He gave Alynna one last look, spared a moment to think of Ranna, far away home, and wondered if she was thinking of them now, if she had felt what was going on. Her dreams had never left her and he was scared to think what would become of her without him. Without their sons. What would become of Alynna? He knelt and closed his eyes, almost eager for the blow that would put an end to those premonitions.

Errol was the next one but he had to wait until they cleaned his uncle's blood away from the log. Even so, it was hard to keep his head in one place on the slippery wood and the first blow missed his neck, hitting the nape instead – a blow that led to a fountain of blood spraying out from the wound but not immediate death; two more were needed to separate the head from his body and at the time, the hand of the man wielding the axe was shaking so hard that the blade didn't even cut the wood. When he raised the head that resembled so much Rhaegar Targaryen's, the head with the silver hair and fixed indigo eyes, no one cheered. Horror had descended upon all faces. Blaise screamed. Arel drew him closer and turned his head away, so he wouldn't watch. The boy pressed his cheek against Arel's chest and wept. Alric only dared one look before leaning again over Alynna who had been close to losing conscience at her father's execution and had truly lost it with the first blow that had only managed to send Errol into agony.

The spectacle was over. Men returned to their duties and Alric and the rest were escorted back to their tent to expect the maester who would tend Alor and Alynna. Behind them, the three heads, already impaled on spears, followed their retreat with eyes that no longer held any feeling.

**A. N. And with this, the deflection is over. Next time, we should return to Starfall and our unhappy lady there.**


End file.
